


our corner of the universe

by stilinskitrash



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Smut, Weddings, baratheon's and stark's are big family businesses, but you should, deaf bran, four weddings and a funeral au, im not sorry, jon is a STARK not a targaryen, you don't need to have seen four weddings and a funeral
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-24 15:42:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskitrash/pseuds/stilinskitrash
Summary: She wasn't exactly spoilt for choice of drinks, and just went with another glass of wine, but drank it too quickly and found herself coughing and flurrying about in an attempt to avoid getting wine on her dress. The bars only other occupant turned to her, disturbed by the noise. It was the Baratheon bastard, one of his brows cocked in an amused way.“Alright?” He laughed, his voice deep and his accent nothing like the rest of the Baratheon/Lannister clan. Something about it felt warmer, but it wasn't hard to be friendlier than the Lannister’s.“Fine.” She snapped with a bit too much bite, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the red stain on her dress uselessly.“Not sure that'll come out, m’lady.”“M’lady?” Arya whirled on him incredulously. “Who exactly do you think I am?”He chuckled and took a big swig of his drink. “Not a bastard, that's for sure.”





	1. a lead weight hanging between my lungs

**Author's Note:**

> chapter title from sprained ankle by julien baker  
> everyone is obviously aged up but age gaps remain the same! e.g. Arya is 18 and there's still 5 years between her and Gendry (as according to asoiaf) so you can work out the other ages if i don't already mention them but if that makes you uncomfortable don't read i guess lol

###  **i.**

_You are invited to the wedding of Joffrey Baratheon and Sansa Stark on May 1st at St Paul's Church, Hills Road, Cambridge._

                   

Arya was a heavy sleeper. Thank god she loved living in the city. The constant ambient noise never bothered her, but seemed to relax her, like a bustling lullaby. Thunderstorms, lightning, hurricanes, ambulances and fire engines; she could easily sleep through them all. Her natural body clock eventually stirred her awake. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and pulling up the straps of her camisole, her eyes drifted to the clock by her bed.

“Oh, fuck!”

Her foot caught in her duvet as she threw herself out of the bed in a panic before crashing through the door and barrelling into her brother Jon’s room across the hall. He lay fast asleep; a black crown of curls covering his pillow. She grabbed the ends of his duvet and whipped it off, to which he only sleepily tossed and turned, grasping for warmth.

“Late! We’re late!”

Jon snapped up in bed, “Fuck!”

“Yes, fuck!” Arya stumbled back into her room, cursing herself for not getting everything ready last night. Although, maybe that wouldn't have been smartest considering her and Jon’s rather tipsy stupor. She could hardly bare to imagine her mother's scorn if she was late to her own sister's wedding. Jon was making a commotion, swearing and throwing things around as the pair both desperately tried to gather their outfits together. The navy blue dress Sansa had picked out was much harder to wriggle into now than how she remembered it in the shop, and Jon was too busy putting his suit together and trying to find cuff links to zip her up.

When they were fully clothed and had both ran a brush through their untameable hair, they rushed out of the hotel and clamoured into Jon’s car. As he turned the ignition it made a funny sighing noise and then silence, almost as if it just gave up.

“Fuck, fuck!” Jon hissed, slamming the steering wheel.

“Try it again!” Arya glanced quickly at the digital clock in the dashboard. Less than twenty minutes left. He tried to restart the car a couple more times, cursing all the while, until the beast roared back to life and Arya punched him in the arm, urging him to floor it. Their father was definitely right; Jon needed a new car. But he was stubborn and sentimental and not as flippant with money as their siblings, and hadn't wanted to part with the car ever since he bought it after leaving college.

“I hope you know the way,” he mumbled, trying to move his hair out of his eyes as they took a sharp turn around a corner. “Cause I sure as hell don't.”

“Fuck.” Arya twisted in her seat to grab the map from the back of the car, crumpled and coffee stained but with the wedding venue circled in red. It didn't look too far, and at the rate Jon was driving they'd surely make it just in time. A thought crept into her mind that worse than her mother and fathers faces as they crept in with seconds to spare would be the looks from the groom's family.

Arya had never liked the Lannister/Baratheon family, and was never going to. She'd never been much for their family business, either. Part of her felt glad that it was Sansa who was making the alliance between the Stark’s and Baratheon’s. Most of her felt dread. But Sansa had insisted that she was okay with the arrangement, and that she even felt things for the Baratheon boy. Arya also had strong feelings towards him, but ones that had gotten her a rather stern talking to from her father. She looked at Joffrey Baratheon and saw cruel, hard eyes and a vindictive, sadistic smile. Sansa, in comparison, was kindness. Sansa was beauty and elegance and soft in places where Arya was rough and uneven. Sansa had taken all the good looks their mother possessed and left nothing for her. Not that she was bitter.

“Left or right?”

She scanned the map. “Ah, shit. Left.”

They turned onto a road lined with little country houses and a church at the end, and Jon slipped into the nearest parking space. A sleek black car was already parked just in front of the arch into the church garden, and a girl slipped out of it clutching a bouquet that she recognised as Shireen Baratheon.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.”

The bride had just arrived. Arya thanked god she wasn't part of the bridal party, which Cersei Baratheon, mother of the groom, had seen to. Jon grabbed her hand and pulled her past their car, just as Sansa was stepping out. She looked breath-taking; her hair styled in loose fiery ringlets, head adorned with a thin silver tiara, and her wedding dress so pristine that Arya half expected the bridesmaids to lay themselves down for her to walk on to avoid it getting dirty. Jon was staring too, until Sansa noticed them and her smile broke into a shocked, gormless frown. Before she could say anything, they were running again, into the church and almost knocking over an attendant meant to show them to their seats.

“Names?”

“Arya Stark and Jon Snow.” Her older brother replied, and Arya didn't need to look around the church to know all eyes were fixed on them.

She wasn't shocked to find Jon wasn't sat next to her and their siblings on the front row with the groom's family. Jon was their half brother, a bastard the same age as her other older brother, Robb. It wasn't exactly considered proper to have him aligned with the “trueborn” family, as some folk would say. Arya had never cared for what was “proper”. But she slipped into a seat in the pew on the side furthest from the aisle, beside Bran, who was two years younger than her and deaf.

He smirked as she sat, slumped and panting in her now rather sweaty dress, and signed “Great timing.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Would you expect anything less?” She signed back, to which he laughed quietly and shook his head.

Next to Bran was Robb, dressed in a black tux and not so subtly glaring at the groom’s family on the adjacent pew next to them. Rickon, the youngest, was squeezed in between Robb and their mother, who was sat on the end closest to the inside of the aisle. Her arm was wrapped around him as he fiddled with the wedding programme. Catelyn Stark turned to Arya with a raised brow and disapproving look, but said nothing.

And at the front of the church stood her father, turned to face the stained glass casting dancing rainbow colours over the pews. His body language wasn’t hard to read. Joffrey Baratheon, the groom, stood a couple of meters away with his father, Robert. For years the Baratheon and Stark companies had danced around a deal to merge them. Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon were long time friends, but the same couldn’t be said for their respective family and board members. The ‘grand’ idea had been that a marriage - aligning the two companies in the eyes of god and by blood - would cement a positive relationship between them. Or, as Arya had thought, would force everyone to get along. But it was all really about money and power, wasn’t it?

Music sang from the organ and Arya followed everyone in standing, stealing a glance a Jon, who was sat behind her, and whose face was contorted in a grimace. All eyes were trained on the door, except the bride didn't enter.

A tall young man barrelled through the entrance, almost sliding into the side of the pews, before regaining control and speed walking down the aisle. Murmurs echoed as the man made his way past everyone, seemingly unphased. His hair was a deep, dark brown, and cut rather short. Even under his blazer, Arya could see he was burly, with broad shoulders and a walk that suggested strength. He wasn't clean cut, but had stubble along his jawline and his tie wasn't straight. She couldn't tear her eyes away. The murmurs turned to harsher whispers as he slipped into the pew right behind the Baratheon/Lannister family.

Jon leaned forward. “That's Robert Baratheon’s bastard.”

“You'll get along great, then.” She joked quietly, but Jon was too busy watching the silent tension unfold at the bastard’s very late arrival. Cersei Lannister, Robert’s wife, stiffened and seemed to share a few words with her twin brother, Jaime, surely at the bastards expense. Cersei Lannister was not a kind woman. The bastard had taken a seat beside the other Lannister brother, Tyrion, a dwarf who was shunned from the ‘main’ family.

But then all eyes were torn back to the entrance of the church as a vision in white presented herself, bookended by angelic bridesmaids in red, navy and gold, and the belated bastard was forgotten.

 

**ii.**

 

“I need a drink.” Jon declared as he and Arya watched Sansa and her new husband chat with the other guests. Arya nodded in agreement, tearing her eyes way and following him over to the bar.

“What a lovely ceremony.” Robb Stark said dryly, a wine glass already in his hand.

“Lovely.” Repeated Jon, before taking a huge swig of whatever alcoholic concoction he'd picked up. The Stark siblings were a tight knit group, Jon included. No one was entirely happy seeing Sansa marry such… a vile person. But Sansa’s happiness was bigger than their distaste.

It wasn't long before Margaery Tyrell, Sansa’s friend, and her brother Loras joined the trio, and they were all several drinks deep. Arya was at the stage where she felt almost light and fuzzy, and she leaned on Jon as all they sat at on bench in the church gardens, which overlooked the guests and tents.

“Does anyone know,” Robb asked, sitting up straighter, “the name of the girl in green talking to the man with the funny moustache?” Arya squinted in the direction of Robb’s finger; she was tall, with tanned skin and an elegant, almost breakable physique. (And Robb’s type.)

“Talisa Maegyr.” Margaery filled in casually, swirling the olive in her cocktail around and giving Robb a questioning and doubtful look. “She's from Spain.”

He nodded and was silent for a long time, before decidedly climbing to his feet and brushing off his suit.

“I'm going to go talk to her.”

Jon scoffed and earned himself a sharp glare, to which he held his hands up in mock surrender and shrugged. “I mean, good luck, man.” He grinned.

Robb downed the rest of his drink, passed the empty glass to Loras, and took off across the green. Her gaze followed him down until he passed by Sansa, and Arya felt her brow crease. Her fire kissed sister was surrounded by a pack of lions. Cersei Lannister stood close to her daughter, Myrcella, conversing with Sansa. Jaime Lannister wasn't far away, conversing with a tall, blonde woman, but still within arms reach of his sister and Arya’s.

“I think I'm gonna grab another drink.” Arya murmured, pushing herself up before anyone could say anything else. The world seemed to shake a little, but Arya focused on the bar, which only had one other occupant, who was sat by himself.

“Arya!” Fuck.

A familiar voice called her name again and she was forced to confront it. Putting on her best faux smile, she turned to see him. “Mycah,” she greeted him as he sped towards her, his excited grin almost making her grimace. “You alright?”

“Better now you're here.” Mycah was a nice guy and he and Arya certainly had some history. But words like ‘ _casual_ ’ and ‘ _fling_ ’ didn't seem to be words he understood. She'd done such a good job at dodging him at previous social events, that it was only a matter of time before he sprung up again. Personal space was also another word Mycah needed to relearn, as he moved in towards Arya, so close he had to look down at her to have eye contact. Arya recoiled instinctively, trying not to flinch when Mycah looked visibly confused and hurt by her sudden retraction.

“Listen, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've gotta grab some drinks.” She offered him a smile, backing away in the direction of the bar.

“I'm quite parched, actually!”

Arya frowned. “You don't drink.”

Mycah’s expression was conflicted for a moment, before he let out a short laugh and shrugged. “You're right. You know me so well, Arry.”

The nickname was wrong coming from his mouth. He'd heard her siblings say it and somehow thought their relationship was close enough to adopt it too. She spun on her heels, careful to keep her balance, before Mycah could say anything else. Her focus was forcibly trained on the bar. He didn't come after her.

She wasn't exactly spoilt for choice of drinks, and just went with another glass of wine, but drank it too quickly and found herself coughing and flurrying about in an attempt to avoid getting wine on her dress. The bars only other occupant turned to her, disturbed by the noise. It was the Baratheon bastard, one of his brows cocked in an amused way.

“Alright?” He laughed, his voice deep and his accent nothing like the rest of the Baratheon/Lannister clan. Something about it felt warmer, but it wasn't hard to be friendlier than the Lannister’s.

“Fine.” She snapped with a bit too much bite, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the red stain on her dress uselessly.

“Not sure that'll come out, m’lady.”

“ _M’lady_?” Arya whirled on him incredulously. “Who exactly do you think I am?”

He chuckled and took a big swig of his drink. “Not a bastard, that's for sure.”

Arya grumbled to herself, angrily rubbing at the red mark, her frustration growing. She looked like a careless fool and she could feel his eyes on her still, unnerving her. But when she looked up his eyes weren't malicious or pitiful, and she watched silently as he grabbed a new napkin and gestured to her dress.

“May I? It's just you're, uh, doing it wrong.”

She debated it for a few minutes, before casting her used napkin aside and stepping towards him hesitantly. His hands weren't delicate by any means; accentuated by the contrast of the delicate napkin in his worn, rough hands. Callous fingertips and short, chipped nails gripped the white cloth he was holding out to her. She tore her eyes away.

“You're supposed to dab,” he murmured, pulling the navy fabric taut, fingers grazing her skin through the fabric. “Rubbing makes it worse. There's not much we can do here unless you happen to have some salt handy. Thank fuck it's a dark dress, aye?”

Arya nodded absently, watching him tend to her dress. He had to bend down to get to it, as he was certainly more than a few inches taller than her.

“And how would you know?” She finally spoke, but her voice didn't feel like hers.

“Worked in my fair share of bars. Served a lot of drinks. Known a lot of clumsy people.”

“I'm not clumsy.” It came out almost like a growl, her defences rising.

The Baratheon bastard nodded. “Forgive me, I've known a lot of _drunk_ people,” he corrected, and Arya could see the smirk on his face he was trying to hide by not looking up at her. She snatched the fabric of her dress from his hands and stepped back, forgetting there was a chair there and stumbling over it. He was there in seconds to catch her, steady hands gripping her shoulders. “Let me get you a glass of water.”

“Arya!” Rickon came running towards her, his long auburn curls bouncing on his shoulders. “It's picture time!”

“Fuck.” She pushed herself off from the bar and turned to the bastard, who was holding a glass of water and staring at where Rickon was running back. “Are-are you coming? Like, are you in the picture?” She already knew the answer; Jon was sitting at a table on the lawn, still talking to Loras and Margaery, his back to the group assembling for a photo.

He shook his head. “Nah.” Was all he said as if it was no big deal, handing her the water. There wasn't much time, and Arya could see the photographer arranging where everyone was to stand. She drank as much of the water as she could, and was about to depart for the photo when she felt his hand on her forearm. “My name’s Gendry. Not that you asked.” He grinned, before performing a small curtsey. “M’lady.”

Arya had half a mind to punch him there and then, but instead she pulled herself from his grasp and headed towards the wedding photo, mumbling under her breath about bastards and titles and wine stains, and willing herself not to look back at his smug face.


	2. lay yourself down and dig your grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the sunset, a Lannister, a taxi ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how many times I've tried to rewrite this and still not been happy. Have it anyway!  
> title taken from sleep on the floor by the lumineers. All songs used for chapter titles are songs I think fit their relationship/this book/just inspired me in some way! Check em out

**iii.**

  
“The _state_ of you!” Catelyn fussed, licking her finger and rubbing at the stain like it would magically disappear.  
  
“Mother,” she groaned, pushing back. “That won't work.” Gendry came to mind, but she pushed that away too. She'd seen him not half an hour ago talking to a pretty blonde on his assigned dinner table. Arya, meanwhile, was sat with her younger brothers, Myrcella and Tommen Baratheon, their cousin Shireen. Robb and her mother and father got to sit at the table with the bride and groom. Jon was sat with a bunch of guests she was sure he'd never met before.  
  
How did Sansa still look so radiant? It felt like they'd been at this wedding days. (It must've been, what, three hours?) But her sister’s hair was perfect and her makeup unsmudged. Arya couldn't even wear mascara without forgetting it was on and rubbing her eyes. She’d not even had chance to speak to Sansa this entire day, and all she wanted was to ask if she was okay. Admittedly, Arya had said some pretty nasty things to Sansa pre-wedding. Sansa’s wedding anxiety and Arya’s personal opinions on Joffrey had clashed, and it had caused a fiery conflict between sisters. But she was _still_ her sister. They looked out for each other.  
  
Arya took her seat next to Bran, thankful for the stability of sitting down for the next hour to combat her tipsiness. (She was going to be drinking a lot of water.) Their mother went and joined their father at the head table, where he sat beside Robert Baratheon, and once everyone was seated Cersei Lannister stood up to make an opening toast. Arya tuned it out. In fact, she tuned most of the toasts out. It was all bullshit about Sansa and Joffrey’s relationship (they'd been together mere months) and comical anecdotes (Joffrey didn't have a funny bone in him) to amuse and please the guests. Many “awes” later, the food was served, but Arya’s appetite had since disappeared.  
  
Shireen Baratheon acted nor looked anything like her cousins, and Arya - who was the same age - found herself enjoying her company quite pleasantly. However, Myrcella and Tommen didn't make for great dinner company. The two did seem nicer than Joffrey, but even the physical resemblance between them and their Lannister side made Arya turn away. Myrcella was seventeen, a year younger than Arya, and both taller and fuller in shape than Arya. Tommen, chubby and baby faced, was the youngest Baratheon child, at sixteen. Despite his young appearance, his similarities to his uncle Jamie were strikingly obvious. The pair hardly conversed with each other, let alone the Stark children. Perhaps they felt alienated by Bran’s sign language, but all they had to do was ask for a translation.  
  
“Awkward.” Bran signed, before poking at the turkey on his plate.  
  
“Understatement.” Arya responded, forcing another look at Sansa, who seemed silent as Joffrey and Cersei exchanged conversation. “I need the toilet.” She excused herself and tried not to look too hurried as she left the hall, bypassed the toilets and went back out to the garden.  
  
It was darker already, a cool spring evening. She needed time to breathe, and to think. Her mind was whirling with thoughts of family and business and bastards. The sun was just about to set.  
  
“Red sky at night, Shepherd's delight.”  
  
Arya nearly had a heart attack. “Fuck,” she cursed, “you can't just do that.” Gendry shoved his hands into his pockets and waltzed up next to her, eyes trained on the sky. She’d worried it was one of the groom's party, come to interrogate or question her. Technically, he was, but she felt the tension in her body slack at the realisation it was only _Gendry_.  
  
“Red sky in the morning, Shepherd's warning.”  
  
“What's that supposed to mean?” She huffed. The sky had just begun painting itself various shades of pink and orange, casting a warm glow across the churchyard. The back end of the church was away from the main road and village, and looked out across a field full of wheat ripe for harvesting. Gendry’s silhouette against the picturesque back drop was almost like something from a painting.  
  
“Dunno, to be honest.” He admitted, pulling out a pack of cigarettes that were tucked in his jacket pocket. “Just something I used to hear.”  
  
She raised a brow at him. “What? Whilst you were working in bars and helping drunk people?”  
  
Gendry chuckled and lit the cigarette. “Somethin’ like that.”

He offered the pack of cigs to her but she declined; Jon hated smoking. Arya had smoked for a short time whilst at sixth form, mostly during social activities. She wasn't usually one for peer pressure, but roguish seventeen year olds can be annoyingly convincing and desirable to impress. When her and Jon had moved in together she’d quit, bar the occasional fag on nights out with her friends, when she knew she wouldn't come back smelling of it too obviously.

“Don't smoke?” He assumed, “you're not gonna tell me to quit are you? Or that it's an ugly habit? I assure you, I've heard it before.”

Arya was taken aback. She didn't think she'd come off looking distasteful about it. She also didn't think Gendry could make any habit look ugly. “You do you.” She shrugged, kicking at a stone with her heel.  
  
They stood in silence for a while, Arya too stubborn to make conversation with him and Gendry happily occupied with his cig. It wasn’t exactly an uncomfortable quietness, despite the shortness of their acquaintance. He seemed to be humming to himself, and she had half a mind to tell him to shut the hell up when they both nearly jumped out of their skin.  
  
_Smash_.  
  
In unison, they spun around to the source of the noise. It hadn't been loud enough for the guests inside to be disturbed, but loud enough to cause them both a shock. A short figure stumbled round the corner towards them reeking of alcohol, as if the fact they'd been heavily drinking was unclear by the way they staggered in their direction.  
  
“Not enjoying the food?” Slurred Tyrion Lannister, emerging into the light streaming out from the hall, his figure now illuminated and clear. Gendry and Arya said nothing, but Tyrion hardly seemed to care, or notice. “Neither.” He answered his own question, “A liquid dinner for me!”  
  
Arya could've sworn her and Gendry had moved instinctively closer together, his arm now brushed against hers as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The small connection felt protective - not that she needed protecting - and it was strangely comforting.  
  
“Perhaps you had the same idea.” He chuckled, indicating to the red stain on her dress. “You're an interesting girl, Arya Stark.” The Lannister continued, propping himself up against the brick of the hall. Chattering and laughing could still be heard through the closed door, and suddenly Arya felt she much preferred it inside.  
  
“Is that so?” She didn't mean to sound as challenging as the words came out. He was a _Lannister_ , and influential in the Baratheon business, no matter what position he held. She had to hold her tongue and watch her tone.  
  
Tyrion chortled to himself, hiccupping as he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. She felt cold fingers grab for her own and before she could object Gendry had extinguished his cig and was trying to lead her back towards the doors. “C’mon, let's go.” He murmured, Arya stuck to the floor as she stared at Tyrion Lannister.  
  
“Do you have a habit of attracting bastards, _Lady_ Stark?” The drunken man inquired, rewatching Gendry’s attention. They both froze in their tracks, tensed. “Your brother Jon is certainly interesting, too. He cares about you, perhaps more than the others. He’s by your side every second when you're not by the side of another bastard. How are you, nephew?” He gestured to Gendry, who's fingers slipped from her grasp limply and defensively. “And here I am! Before your very eyes. Not a bastard, but as good as. All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes.”  
  
The sound from the hall grew louder as a live band began playing. Tyrion was temporarily both startled and distracted by the racket, and Gendry snatched the chance to slip into the hall, Arya slow on his heels. She reached for him inside the doorway, fingers gripping into his sleeve, well aware of the publicity of her actions now.  
  
“What's wrong?” She was angry and unsure why. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the talk with Tyrion Lannister, but she couldn't piece together why it suddenly felt like Gendry’s walls had gone up. Had she upset him? Surely he was used to flack from his family?  
  
“Nothing, _m’lady_.” A strained smile was etched on his face. “Have a lovely night.”  
  
He pulled away and she let him, staring as he headed over to the other side of the hall to Arya’s table. _Get yourself together_ , she scolded herself. But something in her stomach churned uneasily as her eyes fell upon Jon who had moved seats and happened to be sitting right beside where Gendry sat, welcoming him back merrily. Gendry returned a smile that Arya saw through, his friendliness now seeming forced. His eyes fleetingly looked up to meet hers. Jon followed his gaze curiously and waved animatedly at Arya, who managed a smile back but forced herself to turn to her own table.  
  
Bran was staring at her, perceptive as ever. He didn't say anything as she took her seat, just in time for dessert. Nothing the table’s occupants said registered in her mind for the next half hour. She passive aggressively ate her lemon cake, too angry and too stubborn to look up from the table.  
  
“Why are you mad?” Bran signed a little while later.  
  
“I don't really know.” She replied truthfully, her frustration deflating a little at the look of concern on his soft face. “The sooner this is over, the better.”  
  
Her brother smiled gently and signed, “agreed.”

  
  
**iv.**

  
Arya watched the car carrying the newly weds drive away, guests waving merrily. Margaery Tyrell stood by her side as they both looked on silently. She tried to push down the sense of dread she felt at the idea of leaving Sansa alone with Joffrey Baratheon, her fingernails digging into her palm. Robb staggered over moments later, the pretty brunette from earlier hanging off his arm happily. She giggled at something he said, her head hurrying into his side, and Arya almost melted at how all her actions looked so effortlessly beautiful. They climbed into a taxi together, but not before their mother pulled him aside for some quick words. Ned Stark smiled amusedly at his wife, eventually taking her by the arm and forcing her to wave goodbye to the pair.  
  
“Hey, Arya.” Jon approached, his hair messier than it had been when the wedding started, and his tie more askew. “A bunch of us were gonna go back to the Tyrell’s place if you wanna come along? If not we can just go home.”  
  
“You should come!” Margaery nudged her encouragingly.  
  
“Okay, sure. Let's go.” She agreed, if a little half-heartedly. Arya was socially exhausted, but she didn't want to deprave Jon of a fun night.  
  
“Nice!” He grinned, jumping forward to envelope Arya in a bear hug. When he'd let her go and moved over to talk to Loras, Margaery shuffled in closer to her.  
  
“He keeps looking at you,” She whispered, eyes pointed in the direction of a familiar Baratheon bastard. Gendry was leaning against a low stone wall, a new cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other, isolated from conversation. “He's rather attractive. Have you said hi?”  
  
Arya shrugged, staring at her feet as she shuffled gravel around absently. “Kinda.” In that moment, she caught him looking back up at her, not expecting her to be staring right back. For a while, neither backed down, before Gendry’s eyes strayed back to his phone, feigning a casual look. What was his game?  
  
He made the mistake of not watching her as she approached him, only acknowledging her when she swung and punched him in the arm.  
  
“Oi!” He laughed, clutching his arm as if it really hurt. Arya was strong, but she'd felt the muscle as her fist had connected with his bicep. “What did I do to deserve that, m’lady?”  
  
“Where are you going?” She sprung on him suddenly, instead of answering his question. “Like, now.” A few silent seconds passed as Gendry’s eyes scanned her expression. It made Arya fidget, uneasy under an unreadable gaze. “Is there something on my face?” She demanded, growing annoyed. His grin only widened.  
  
He shook his head, amused, “Not at all. And I'm staying at an inn in town, not far away. Yourself? A royal castle, I suppose.” He drawled jokingly.  
  
She wrinkled her nose at the last comment. “I don't know.” A lie. Gendry didn't look as though he bought it, but he nodded along silently. A quick glance at Jon saw him thoroughly occupied in drunkenly acting out an anecdote to Loras and some other bemused guests. He hadn't even seemed to make a connection between Gendry and his half sister all-night, too oblivious and merry.  
  
“Well-” Whatever he was about to say was halted as his focus switched to something behind Arya. She could hear the sound of gravel below foot growing louder as someone approached, and she tried to hide her cringe as she turned to see who it was.  
  
“Hey, Arya,” Mycah smiled meekly, either not noticing or ignoring her grimace. “Staying anywhere nice this evening?” He raised an eyebrow, his proposition needing no further expansion.  
  
She flummoxed for words. “I, uh-”  
  
“With me.” _Fuck_. Arya’s eyes darted to Gendry in alarm, but he only had eyes for Mycah, who seemed to shrink in size at the confrontation from the larger man. Then Gendry’s arm was snaking around her waist and pulling her into his side, and he smelled so good. The thin fabric of her dress against his cold grip sent a shiver up her spine, but she didn't push him away. “ _Her boyfriend_.”  
  
Her stomach felt like it was doing somersaults. Mycah was speechless as a frown flickered across his face, and Gendry didn't bother to conceal a cocky smirk. The other guy’s expression crumbled, and she almost felt sad for him. In fact, she probably would've, if the bodily contact with Gendry weren’t sending her senses into overdrive. His grip on her tightened as Mycah’s eyes flitted over their forms, and he nodded his head slowly.  
  
“Oh, I- okay, then. Well, nice seeing you. Night, Arya.” He mumbled, giving her a defeated looking half smile and walking away.  
  
Arya let out a shallow breath, avoiding looking at Gendry’s face or Mycah’s back. But she didn't have much time to relax, as a taxi pulled up conveniently to the curb moments later. Gendry looked around at the other guests before he opened the door for her, raising a brow. Did he actually want her to go with him? She stared at it bemusedly, causing him to let out a sigh and guide her gently into the vehicle with the arm still linked around her.  
  
He slipped in beside her, slamming the door. “Where are we going?” She demanded with a degree of uncertainty, but Gendry was already telling the driver where to go. It was the address of an inn.  
  
“I said you're staying with me tonight.”  
  
Jon was going to wonder where she’d gone. “I _know_ , but-”  
  
“You can get out, if you want.” Her mouth seemed to open and close like a goldfish as she struggled for the right words. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself that she didn't _want_ to get out. His face was shrouded in shadows and hard to make out in the back of the cab. She prayed he couldn't see the heat in her cheeks she felt spreading by the second.  
  
Arya shuffled around. The cheap leather seats made her dress even more uncomfortable, and she couldn't wait to tear it off. Not to mention her feet, which she was sure were pure blisters by the point. Heels were for special occasions only (even though Sansa had argued the height they added her “wouldn't hurt”). After a long while of silence and staring at the passing pavements, she broke the ice with a determined “I don't need you jumping in, you know. I don't need protecting.” Although she wasn't entirely sure how she would've gotten around Mycah tonight in anyway that didn't involve making a scene.  
  
Gendry scoffed. “Oh, I know.”  
  
“Then why did you do that? In front of Mycah? I could've, and would've, handled it.”  
  
“Well, I just…” He trailed off, turning to look out the window and leaving Arya to wait for a response that never came. She rolled her eyes.  
  
“You're just bull-headed. A bull-headed boy.” He didn't look like a boy. Lean muscles, rough, steady hands and a strong jawbone lined with annoyingly even stubble made up the man sat beside her. It occurred to her then how alike he looked to his father. Well, the old pictures of his father she'd seen; a handsome man who had carried himself strongly and with an intoxicating sense of determination and charisma. Robert Baratheon had certainly had more lovers than Gendry’s mother, and probably fathered more bastards than just Gendry, too. But in all the ways they were similar, they were still nothing alike. Arya didn't think she would've liked Robert Baratheon at Gendry’s age. Hell, she didn't exactly like Robert now.  
  
When he faced her again a smirk was dancing on his lips, daring to break into a grin, and Arya found herself helplessly staring. “Is that so?” He sounded like he was daring Arya to do something. She continued to fidget.  
  
It felt like she was forgetting how to talk, the more she drank in of him - the more time she spent trying to analyse his features in the darkness. Minutes must have passed whilst she looked like a tipsy fool, until Gendry placed an arm on her knee and cocked his brow in silent question. “Arya?” Her gaze was flickering; eyes, lips, eyes lips. Fuck, fuck-  
  
“I-”  
  
“We’re here.” _Fuck_. The taxi driver was facing them expectantly through the screen. Gendry stared at her for a long moment before tearing away, and Arya felt herself deflate. She caught her breath as Gendry pulled out his wallet to pay for the taxi, not knowing she needed space to breathe so badly. She would've offered to pay half the fare if she wasn't busy trying to get her shit together. She could pay him back later.  
  
Arya grabbed the door and clambered out before he could even get his wallet back in his pocket, the crisp evening air sending goosebumps across her skin. They’d arrived at a pub, but it looked practically derelict. A light was on inside, but no one could be seen at the tables through the window.  
  
“Alright?” His touch was light on her elbow, and her mind seemed to cloud over again. “God, you're so cold. Your skins like fucking braille.” He chuckled lightly.  
  
“I'm fine.” She asserted, making for the pubs door. A few hidden guests sat in the corner at the back of the pub in big burgundy armchairs, but the room was quiet except for a weak, flickering fire. Gendry already had his room key, and held out his arm in indication for her to go first through a side door the led to a creaky and unstable looking staircase.

“Are you sure you're okay?” He asked as he shut the door behind them, only centimetres behind her.  
  
“Yeah, just, uh - my feet hurt.” Arya replied lamely. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't really the answer to his question either.  
  
They reached the landing, which looked just as creaky and unstable as the staircase, with a low ceiling and wooden beams. The lights above them were old and broken, full of dead flies that had somehow gotten trapped. Four doors lay ahead, all numbered. Suddenly, there were hands gripping her legs and lower back and Arya was no longer standing on the floor. Her body froze in alarm, but the warmth of his body was a welcome feeling regardless out there on the landing. After sweeping her up into his arms like she weighed nothing, Gendry made for room three.  
  
“What are you _doing_?” She hissed, alarmed, but aware that other guests may be sleeping.  
  
“You said your feet hurt.” He feigned an innocent frown, but the tugging at the corners of his mouth indicated that he was taking too much pleasure in making Arya’s cheeks burn. He was toying with her.  
  
Arya tried to wriggle free, but his arms secured her in place as he tried to contain a laugh. “Put me down, you stupid bull!”  
  
“As m’lady commands.” He lowered her back gently to the floor, only to get out the room key and push open the door to his one-night-only humble abode. His hand lingered on her back as he ushered her inside, where it was much warmer and much dimmer.  
  
There was a four-poster bed, but it didn't look in great condition, or anything like the ones at the house she grew up in. She assumed Gendry had grown up in a similar house, but she wondered guiltily if he'd even had similar privileges as a bastard. Clothes lay strewn across the floor; leading a trail from his open suitcase to the various places he'd decided to dump them. The bed sheets were the tidiest things in the room, but probably because someone had come in and changed them whilst he was out.  
  
The sound of the door locking turned her attention back to Gendry, who slipped the key into his pocket and his arms swiftly around her waist, fingers pinching her skin. He swung them both around so Arya’s body was pushed up against the wall with such urgency that Arya knew she'd be bruised, but she cared more about Gendry’s body pressed against hers. His lips were inches away, their noses brushed softly. Heat bloomed in her like a flame, her breathing growing more intense as he stared her down for what felt like a lifetime. Do something, she urged silently, hands wrapped around his neck.  
  
“We both know you're too stubborn to make a move.” He whispered softly, close enough to her ear so his breath tickled.  
  
Arya let out a light scoff and dragged her hands down to his hips, slipping her cool palms under his shirt and tickling the flesh underneath by drawing patterns in his skin. Her nails dragged as she took time to linger over his abs, feeling his body tense. It was a delicate, teasing action, and an excuse to take him in for longer. His eyes, now hungry and hooded; the light dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose she noticed at this proximity, and the tiny pink scar above his left eyebrow. He had flinched at the initial, chilling contact, but it was only pushing him closer into her.

“You don't know anything.” She smiled, reaching up on her hip toes to place a kiss just below his neck, a catalyst action. Boy, was she wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the LOVELY comments on the first chapter they were so encouraging aaaa!! I haven't posted a fic in maybe like? A year? And my writing has hopefully improved since then!! But yes thank you all :))


	3. touch me, someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little frisky, a taxi ride of shame, a brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first things first, I'm awful at writing smut sooooo please don't judge me too harshly. Still getting the hang of it ahaha. Secondly, if you don't want to read the smut (which is mainly just foreplay tbh) then skip to just before the second part of the chapter! (where it says vi)  
> Chapter title from feel something by jaymes young

**v.**

Gravity seemed to pull him down to her lips, the connection hungry as they snatched and grabbed at each other as if they were starved. He tasted of a hint of the lemon cake they’d had earlier for dessert, and she drank him in eagerly. His teeth grazed her lips as they both moved clumsily, his hips up against her midriff. Gendry’s arms boxed her in until he lifted her up again, encouraging her to wrap herself around him as his palms kneaded her ass. He ripped them away from the wall and carried her over onto the bed, trailing kisses along her jawline and down to the neck of her dress as he hung above her, tugging at the hem with his teeth.  
  
“Take it off.”  
  
“Gladly.” Arya let out a breathy laugh that was swallowed by a moan as Gendry sucked at the skin along her collarbones, hands reaching around her back to fumble at the zip of the dress. He wasn't careful, his rough fingers pulling the dress too hard so the seam of the zip tore, but Arya was just glad to be free of it. Even the thin navy fabric had suddenly felt like too much space between them, and Gendry was still wearing far too many layers. He kicked the dress off the bed as Arya pushed the blazer down his shoulders and began unbuttoning his shirt, kissing every area of his skin she could reach as it became exposed.  
  
Everything was moving so fast but she was dizzy with giddiness and need. Gendry detached himself from her lips and propped himself above her for a moment, still and watching her silently. The removal of contact left her feeling like a fish out of water.  
  
“What?” Arya demanded, sudden and self-conscious as she lay below him in her underwear. _God_ , she should've worn better underwear.  
  
He shook his head, “nothing,” and dived back down to plant kisses across her stomach, his nose brushing her skin and tickling her in a way that she couldn't get enough of. “You're just lovely.” He mumbled against her skin, “and so, so fucking beautiful.”  
  
She would've blushed if her cheeks weren't already heated and she wasn't already laid almost bare for him, his own torso exposed now too. _There was no way he didn't work out,_ she thought incredulously, hands reaching up curiously to roam across the abs and chest she'd blindly traced before. Her hands reached for his hair, buzzed short at the back, and she raked her fingers through it as he followed an invisible trail down to her underwear, kissing at her abdomen. His hands moved down to paw where she was already wet, rubbing his fingers agonisingly slowly against the fabric of her pants. Her body bent into the friction, curses slipping from her mouth in soft groans.  
  
Gripping his hair harder as her back arched with pleasure, his hands dipped below the line of her pants. He kept up his motions, nursing an increasingly intense heat in the pit of her stomach.  
  
“Fuck, shit,” she rasped, bucking her hips towards him, eager for more touch.  
  
She pulled his face back up to her, his teeth dragging against her bottom lip as they reconnected in a hungry kiss. He moved from her clit, and worked to remove her bra - a task he proved poor at.  
  
Gendry swore frustratedly, until Arya reached around her back and unclipped it for him with ease, and he ripped it from her. He seemed to marvel at what lay in front of him, still grinning, before peppering kisses in the space between her breasts and all around, lingering on each of her nipples. She responded by beginning to undo his belt, the buckle cold and hard against her skin as his hips pushed into her. He wriggled out of the pants, casting them aside with the rest of their clothes. Testedly, she palmed his crotch, causing him to make a guttural noise and thrust into her hand needily. They latched back onto each other, tongues dancing in sync as her free hand clawed at his back, nails dragging desperately. The kiss intensified as Arya gently slipped a hand between their bodies and below his waistband, their breaths becoming heavier, quicker pants.  
  
“Arya,” he groaned her name into the crook of her neck like a prayer as she began stroke his length gently. When she pulled away his eyebrows knitted and he looked like a lost puppy. But Arya was just getting started. In his dazed state she managed to flip him over, climbing on top and straddling him. One hand roamed across his chest, digging her nails into his skin, as the other went back to working him up below his boxers. Gendry’s eyes screwed shut and his hands gripped her forearms.

“Fuck, Arya.” Her movements increased in speed, and it felt like her stomach was in knots seeing what she could do to him with her touch. He threw his head back, biting down on the lips she couldn't get enough of kissing, now swollen and red. She eventually felt the cum on her fingertips, as he moaned and cursed in a sudden flurry. His hands wasted no time in moving to cup her breasts, kneading and pawing at them as she ground down against his crotch, riding him agonisingly slowly. Their actions were sporadic and needy; careless and desperate.

She was just about to remove her last piece of underwear when a hand grabbed her wrist. He held her there, still breathing hard.

“What?”

“I… I don't think-”

“Fuck.” She recoiled from his grasp as if she'd been stung, sitting up on his hips. His hard on was still pressing against her, but she hardly cared anymore. “You don't want to have sex.” She'd meant to say it in her head, but when it left her mouth and she heard how desperate she must've sounded she grimaced.

“Arya-” he started pleadingly as she climbed off of him and stumbled onto the floor, cool beneath her feet. She was suddenly hyper aware and entirely self conscious that she was naked. Her arms folded across her body, covering her chest as she shut her eyes tight, cursing and cursing under her breath. Jumping to conclusions and assuming the worst were part of her defense mechanism, closing her walls to stop herself from falling further.

“I'm so stupid.” She whispered.

“Arya, no you're not. It's not like that.” The bed groaned as he rose and the floorboards creaked uneasily as he made his way towards her, but her eyes were kept closed. His hands wrapped around her shoulders and she tried half heartedly to escape. “Please open your eyes.”

They stayed resolutely shut. “Fuck off, Gendry.” She couldn't muster up enough venom or energy for her words to seem serious.

She felt a gentle touch on her eyelids as he placed light butterfly kisses there, and on her temple, peppering her all over. His palms rubbed her arms, warming her up when she was too wrapped up in embarrassment to realise how cold she actually was without his body heat.

“Arya,” he hummed against her cheek, placing another kiss on the corner of her lips. She instinctively moved towards his mouth, hands dropping defeatedly to lie on his waist.

“How can someone so small have so much anger?” He laughed softly. She tried to conceal a smile, burying her face in his chest, and letting his body fully embrace her in a hug. “Come back to bed. Please?” He tilted her face up to his, placing a kiss on her lips, more careful and light than earlier.

“If you _insist_.” Her eyes rolled in feigned exasperation, and she followed him back to the four poster bed. This time he threw back the covers and climbed underneath, leaving space for Arya to slide in. Before she got in, she picked up one of Gendry’s discarded shirts from the floor and slipped it on. It smelt of him; aftershave and smoke, and the fabric was soft enough to sleep in. There was a picture of a band on the front she hadn't heard of.

Gendry watched her happily, chuckling as his shirt fell down to her knees on her small frame. When her head hit the pillow, he draped an arm across her, pulling her close to his chest. He didn't say anything else as they lay intertwined. Arya fell asleep listening to the sound of him breathing, and the rain outside pattering against the window.

 

  
**vi.**

  
Arya stirred at the sound of something buzzing, reverberating off a surface and amplifying the noise. She groaned and rolled over, only to nearly roll onto someone else. His face was pressed against his pillow, bed sheets kicked off so his torso lay exposed. He seemed so much younger, unaware and blissful. Gendry seemed not to hear the buzzing, snoring away softly. For a while, all she could do was stare at his sleeping form, replaying what she remembered of last night. The wedding, the taxi ride to the inn, the undressing and kissing and- oh, fuck.

She sat up so fast her head spun, and Gendry muttered something unintelligible unconsciously. The dress she’d suffered through the wedding in lay discarded on the floor a metre or so away, as well as her bra and her dignity. Her immediate reaction was to find her phone, but she hadn’t even brought it with her, having handed it to Jon for safe keeping before the wedding. The buzzing continued, and Arya creeped out of the bed to look for it with the intention of shutting it the hell up. Of course the floorboards creaked as she tried not to wake Gendry, and found the vibrating to be coming from under Gendry’s wedding jacket. It was a phone - _his_ phone. The wallpaper was a picture of a woman with long, blonde hair, her arms wrapped around a younger, brunette boy. They seemed happy, but the photo looked old, as if it’d been scanned into a computer from an old photograph or polaroid so Gendry could make it his lockscreen.

With only a hint of guilt, she looked at the texts causing the incessant vibrations, and felt her stomach hollow. They were from a collection of people, some from last night and some from minutes ago. Margaery Tyrell, his father, and Arya’s brother Robb. She only knew some were from Robb because she’d memorised his number - the texts on Gendry’s phone from him read that they were from an unknown number. The most recent ones displayed some colourful language from Robb, one demanding he “pick up his fucking phone right fucking now”.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” she muttered, running her hands through her hair anxiously.

“Arya?” Gendry propped himself up on his elbows, looking over at her as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

“Unlock your phone for me.” she rushed over to his side of the bed, nearly tripping over his clothes, holding the phone out to him as he squinted back at her with a sleepy and confused frown. He stared at it in her hands as if he'd never seen a phone before, and she watched impatiently as his eyes went wide when he read the texts.  
  
“Shit,” he took it off her and typed in the passcode, “what do you want me to do?” His eyes displayed a look of genuine concern and care, and he reached to take hold of one of Arya’s hands.

She faltered for a moment, stunned as his thumb rubbed soothing circles on her skin, before she ripped her hand away, shaking her head. “Can you call a cab, please?” The obvious attempt to hide his hurt made her cringe, but she just couldn’t deal with _this_. He gave a small nod, gave her a small smile, and dialled the number for a cab while she attempted to get dressed. She slipped hurriedly into the tiny en suite with her dress and bra, thankful for the space alone.

Last night- god, last night. Last night had been fun. But it couldn’t happen again. That sentiment filled her thoughts. _It was fun but it wasn’t fair_ , she tried to convince herself. She couldn't go fooling around with her sisters new husband's half brother, could she? What did that even make him to her? A half brother in law? _It could be_ much _worse - he's not blood_ , she thought, thinking of the crude rumours her brother Robb had once told her about the Targaryen’s, a now disbanded family business. Cold water splashed her face as she washed away the remnants of her makeup, and tried to calm herself down. More questions seeped into her mind. What would Sansa say? What did her family think of her escaping into the night with Gendry? The dress now felt like it was suffocating her as she pulled it on, tight around her ribs. Everything was constricted; her clothes, her thoughts, her actions.

A knock at the bathroom door shook her back to sense.

“The taxi’s here.” even through the door, his voice sounded strained.

She took a few more deep breaths, before reemerging. Gendry had donned a shirt and some pyjama shorts, his arms hanging by his side awkwardly and restlessly.

“Thanks,” Arya mumbled, “could you, uh, zip me up?”

Gendry didn't make a move for a second too long, his gaze lingering on her form, before he stepped around her to help.

“Fuck, it's broken.” He sighed after making an attempt, “I'm sorry.”

Heat flushed back to her cheeks as she remembered exactly how that zip had broken. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid bullheaded boy. Stupid Arya. Stupid dress. She was sure her family would love seeing her returning home looking dishevelled.

“It's fine.” She brushed off. “Well, thanks. I guess.” It was almost comical. What did one say to someone in situations such as these? Thanks for the warm bed? Thanks for that thing you did with your fingers? Thanks for-

“You don't have to leave.”

Gendry’s eyes were still on her, almost begging for some form of eye contact; some kind of connection. It was a ridiculous, half hearted proposal. She wanted to take him up on it. The reckless, daring part of her wanted to stay in this dingy inn, in his bed and in his arms, and forget about all other responsibilities. And yet. “I do, Gendry. Goodbye.” She forced the words from her mouth and forced her hand to slip around the door handle, letting herself out without looking back.

The taxi ride back to the hotel she and Jon had been staying in whilst at Cambridge was silent. She couldn't even process the sounds that passed by; children passed with their mothers, their cries muted. An ambulance raced by, unheard. A numbness had settled over her as she tried not to get overwhelmed by the thought of going back to Jon and explaining her whereabouts.

Jon’s car was parked outside the bed and breakfast, and the taxi pulled up just behind it. She'd taken to carrying her high heels, cringing as she tip toed across the gravelly pavement and into the icy, tiled lobby. The receptionist didn't even acknowledge her when she slipped past and up the stairs, to the second floor where they were staying. In the taxi she'd rehearsed all manner of excuses and stories in her head to explain where she'd been - and Arya was a good liar - but she couldn't seem to piece together anything sensical.

She knocked her fist on the room door, and it swung open within seconds. Jon stood shirtless, plaid pyjama pants hanging off his hips, with his phone and Arya’s clasped in his hand.

“It's about fucking time!” He shouted, sounding angry and almost hysterical. His arms encased her in a hug as he pulled her into the room. “God, you're a mess. And why's your dress broken? And your _feet_. Fuck, Arya.”

“I'm sorry,” her voice was voice muffled as she leaned into his chest. “I should've-I should've said something. I wasn't thinking.”

“I better call off the search party,” Jon sighed, giving her a one sided smile. “Robb was going mad, sending these texts-”

Arya coughed awkwardly as she detached herself from him, “I saw.”

“So, you _were_ with-”

“How's Sansa?” She blurted, interrupting him. Gendry wasn't someone she particularly wanted to discuss with him right now. He squinted at her quizzically, before thankfully dropping the subject and shrugging.

“Dunno. Maybe you should check your phone.” He held it out to her, and when she reached for it he wrapped his hand around hers, holding her there. “You're okay though, right?” Arya had always trusted her half brother over her other siblings when she was struggling. (Guiltily, part of her thought perhaps she even loved Jon more.) She'd never felt entirely part of the Stark family, despite being a legitimate child. Neither Arya nor Jon resembled their auburn haired, delicate featured siblings, whose high cheekbones and heart shaped faces mirrored that of her mother's family, the Tully’s. Arya and Jon’s hair was raven dark, and their faces were slim and long. They were Stark’s through and through, yet it set them apart more than it united them with the rest of their family. They'd drifted together as they grew up, clinging to each other for support and in times when they desperately needed to belong. His eyes showed that now - support.

Arya nodded, “Yes,” more for Jon’s sake than her own, “now let's get going. I miss home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! First wedding is done now! Expect maybe a longer break before an update now as I've p much posted everything I had written, also I go back to education on Monday so will be busy again :) thank you for all the lovely comments!!


	4. never had the intention to make you go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the second wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVENT UPDATED IN OVER TWO MONTHS I AM AWARE  
> the last time I had time to update and inspiration was summer holidays. conveniently it is also a holiday for me now. inconveniently I have a shit tonne of work to do for school. HOWEVER HERE IS A CHAPTER. SORRY FOR THE WAIT. THANK U FOR THE LOVELT RESPONSES TO WHAT IVE DONE SO FAR <3  
> chapter title from cutting my fingers off by turnover, one of my favourite bands ever

**i.**   
_You are invited to the wedding of Robert and Talisa at noon on August 2nd at the Church of St Mary of the Fields, York._

It had been three months since the union of Sansa and Joffrey. Three months since Gendry Baratheon. Three months of Arya distracting herself with tasks and outings, and her thoughts being plagued with sisterly worry and what ifs of that night. It wasn't easy to avoid him, either. The Baratheon’s were big on family dinners and events, and Arya was reluctantly now a part of that family. Not that Gendry ever attended them; it seemed Cersei Baratheon would rather sweep him under the rug than welcome him to their table. She caught glimpses of him when they visited Robert Baratheon’s mansion of a home, or Baratheon Industries tower, in hallways or exiting offices. Arya never said anything, but she knew he saw her. It was the most painful waiting game she'd played in a while, as neither wanted to break the ice first.

She was in his bed - in that dingy inn - his hands caressing her body, when a ringing invaded her dreams, pulling her back to reality. Prying her eyes open, her hand floundered aimlessly for the alarm, images of his face still lingering in her mind. The alarm fell silent, and Arya pulled the duvet covers up over her shoulders, and pretended she wasn't wishing for another, similar dream.

“Arya!” The shout of her name came minutes later. Well, it felt like minutes to Arya. A quick glance at the alarm clock showed it to be nearly an hour. A jumble of curses and a thud, like something heavy had fallen, followed the abrupt wake up call. Jon flew in through the door, and Arya drew her covers close to her in shock.

“We’re gonna be late!” Jon held his hands out animatedly, staring at her with wide eyes as he waited for it to dawn on her.

“Fuck!” She cried suddenly. _The wedding._ “Not again, not again, not again! Fuck!”

Her brother nodded ferociously before scrambling back into his own room, Arya throwing the covers off herself. This time, they were home, at their flat in York. Her eldest brother's wedding was taking place much closer to home, in a much more convenient location. And Arya had done herself the decency to prepare her dress the night before, avoiding previous mistakes (although clearly not all previous mistakes). After all, she was a bridesmaid this time. Responsibilities fell upon her, like not being late to her brothers wedding.

Arya wriggled into the dress, dragging her fingers through her hair hastily. She squeezed on a much shorter pair of heels and ran rather unsteadily to meet Jon in the kitchen where he stood in half his suit, making toast. He tossed a piece her way, slathered in butter and slightly burnt at the crust, but Arya would take anything.

“Car or taxi?” Jon asked through a mouthful of toast.

“Taxi,” Arya brushed the crumbs off her hands on a tea towel. “All the parking spaces will be gone.”

Jon and Arya lived fairly inner city, in a location easily accessible for the city centre and close to transport. When they stumbled onto the pavement below their flat moments later, and scanned the streets for a taxi to no avail, Arya was sure fate was playing tricks.

“There's no time to call a cab,” she cursed, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun to look around. “Let's take the car.”

Her brother nodded, still doing his cuffs, his shirt unbuttoned and clutching his jacket. They eventually located Jon’s car, which was parked at the end of the road, only to find a yellow clamp locked firmly around one of the wheels.

“Ah.”

“Fuck, Jon! Of all days!” Arya groaned, ignoring the vibrating from inside her bag. “We’ll have to leg it.” She pulled up the bottom of her dress, and prayed her feet would forgive her.

Robb and Talisa’s wedding was taking place in a dainty church, adorned with a lovely rose garden, twenty or so minutes from Jon and Arya’s flat. And the ceremony was in half an hour. So they ran. Jon was a good six-foot-something in height, with legs longer than Arya’s, so keeping his pace whilst in a dress and heels was hard enough. Navigating busy streets and roads, however, was even harder. They probably looked like lunatics playing dress up.

The sound of bells echoed nearby as they got close, and Arya shot Jon an alarmed look.

With about two minutes to spare, they made it. Jon pulled Arya back before she could leap through the door to do up the zip at the back of her dress she’d neglected. Catelyn was on them in seconds, running fingers through her daughter's hair and tending to Jon’s tie. Arya didn’t register anything she was saying, her eyes on the crowd just through the door, waiting patiently. It was a smaller wedding than Sansa’s. Most of Talisa’s family couldn’t make it over to England, but they had plans to spend part of their honeymoon in Spain with her family. The congregation was mainly the Stark family, extended family and friends. Something about it felt more homely.

As a bridesmaid, Arya followed close behind Talisa as she waltzed down the aisle. She looked stunning in a fitted lace dress, with long sleeves and a high, ruffled neck. It wasn’t something most people could pull off. Robb was justifiably transfixed on his bride, and Arya felt warm knowing her brother was so happy.

Sansa stood on Talisa’s other side, and two of the bride's younger relatives stood behind them, cute and dainty, not unlike Talisa. Sansa was wearing the same dress, but her hair was effortlessly curled and her face was glowing. She may as well have been getting married again instead. (Not that Arya would mind if it was anyone other than Joffrey.) To say that Arya didn’t feel self conscious would be a lie. She felt ridiculous in her dress, in front of everyone. Arya wasn’t built for the spotlight like Sansa or Talisa or even her mother. She kept her eyes trained on the front of the church.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Spoke Samwell Tarly, a family friend who’d offered to do the service to help with his training to become a minister. Sam was nice enough, a bit bumbling and clumsy, but sweet. “Amen.”

“Amen.” The congregation echoed.

  
“Let us pray. Father, you have made the bond of marriage a holy mystery, a symbol of Christ's love for his church.” Sam’s face was exaggeratedly smiley like a cartoon, perhaps to compensate for his words being spoken very script like and careful. “Hear our prayers for Robb and Talisa, through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Goat-”

Arya stifled a snort. Some other people laughed quietly being her as Sam grew a rosy blush. Sansa stayed resolutely stone faced, as usual.

“Ghost.” He corrected. “One God, for ever and ever. Amen. Robb and Talisa, I shall now ask if you freely undertake the obligations of marriage.”

Gradually, Arya zoned out. _What if he was here_ , her mind wandered dangerously. Maybe she could find someone else here. Someone to get her mind off of him. It seemed unlikely, given the crowd being made up mostly of family or close friends. Arya recollected her thoughts in time to catch Sam asking Robb to take Talisa as his “awful wedded wife”.  
  
The reception was being held in a fancy hotel on the other side of York, and guests packed into cars in order to commute there. Jon and Arya, car-less, squeezed rather illegally into the back of Loras Tyrell’s car, between Robb’s friend from work Theon Greyjoy and a smily, chubby young man called Podrick. Sansa had disappeared off with Joffrey, who looked like he’d rather be literally anywhere else throughout the whole ceremony.

“Do you think people get married when they run out of things to say to each other?” Jon mused as they approached the hotel, grand and taller than all the other buildings in the vicinity. Arya snorted, and Theon cracked a smile, but no one else seemed as amused. An awkward silence ensued.

When Arya exited the car in place of the red carpeted steps of the hotel it suddenly seems a bit easier to breathe. That was until she saw the seating plan. A board stood outside the entrance to the main hall, listing who was sat where and with who. She grabbed for Jon, pulling him over and pointing aggressively at her own name and those surrounding.

“Oh- _oh_ , Oh fuck.”

“It’s not funny.” She hissed, elbowing him in the side. People were finding their seats quickly, and soon Arya would be the last to arrive at her table.

“It’s not _not_ funny.” Jon countered, checking for his own name. He was sat with a group of distant relatives Arya had probably only met twice.

“Could we swap?”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “You really think Catelyn would be okay with that?”

She grumbled a series of curses and shrugged. _Of course not_. Her mother had painstakingly organised the tables and many other wedding details months ago, being the classically overbearing and controlling mother in law. Talisa hadn’t fought against her, probably due to a fair warning about it from Robb, but Talisa seemed like a generally more relaxed person than Catelyn Stark. Arya knew her and Robb would’ve been fine to get married in a registry office, or a forest somewhere with minimal guests. But that wasn’t proper.

Arya started back at the list for table 3. Gendry Baratheon was scrawled in delicate handwritten italics. There was no way Catelyn would’ve put them on the same table if she knew what had happened at Sansa’s wedding, so at least this proved that her siblings knew how to keep their mouths shut. Arya hadn’t seen him during the service, but she’d also arrived too late to spend any time chatting to guests until now, where she’d be forced to squeeze between a round table of relatives and such and expected to make small talk.

Jon hooked an arm through hers and dragged her away from the board, causing her to stumble over her heels.

“Just smile. Act natural. Don’t bring up the past.” Jon whispered, navigating his sister to her allocated seat. “Talk to aunt-“

He was already there. Sat beside her cousin Alys, who was jabbering on about some topic or another, was a very distracted Gendry. His hair was longer than before, and his face more stubbly. He was wearing the same suit. He looked more ruggedly handsome than she remembered Every dream version of him that had plagued her dreams paled in comparison.

“Arya!” Alys’ gaze found her before Gendry, as she stood as still as a statue with her arm still looped tightly through Jon’s. “Sit sit sit.” Her cousin ushered. Arya was staring at him. She couldn’t not. His eyes were locked onto hers as she struggled to read his expression, unsurprised but earnest, as if he were apologising for something. What had he to apologise for? Arya was the one who walked away.

“You know Arya, right? I mean how could you _not_.” Alys was beginning to ramble in her normal chatty fashion. Jon was discreetly detaching himself from Arya’s rigid hold. One hand on her back and the other giving her a reassuring squeeze at her wrist, her brother pushed her to the table, pulling out her seat for her.

“I’ll see you later.” Jon smiled, flashing her a wink and was gone, leaving her stranded.

“Yeah, I know Arya.” Hearing his voice in person again sent chills through her body, reawakening her nervous system. It shouldn’t be okay for her name to sound so good on his lips, _fuck_. Alys had an arm draped on the back of Gendry’s chair, and Arya felt begrudgingly annoyed by the proximity of intimacy between them.

Before Arya could come up with a witty and sharp retort, the shrill ring of cutlery against glass silenced the hall. Catelyn wanted to make a speech. Silence fell. The other guests sat at her table had arrived whilst she’d been distracted. Arya could feel Gendry’s eyes lingering on her as she tried to focus on her mother, already talking but no sound reaching Arya’s attention. It was going to be a long evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope u enjoyed that ! I shall Hopefully start the next part asap, expect this wedding to maybe have two more parts/chapters of a similar length?? we shall see :)) comments and feedback etc are always welcome! follow me on tumblr @ noahfcsters :)))


	5. I want you so much closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a wedding dance, drinks and a confrontation.  
> song title from transatlanticism by death cab for cutie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unashamedly unedited. I mean, it was edited. But not as well or to the degree of previous chapters. Just wanted to get it up after my abscence! Will come back and fix bits...probably...... also much shorter than previous chapters but wanted to start next bit in it’s own chapter!!! so I’ll make up for it x

**ii**.

 

It was like a game of table tennis. Arya was caught looking at Gendry; Gendry was caught looking at Arya; they went back and forth the whole meal. Flickering gazes and bashful looks. Gendry’s tousled hair, his hands fiddling with the cutlery as they listened to speech after speech. By the time the couples first dance rolled around, Arya was three glasses of champagne deep and hanging off of Jon.

“Imagine someone loving you _that_ much.” Arya murmured, staring at her brother and sister-in-law.

Robb had lent down to rest his forehead against Talisa’s, contagious smiles spread across their faces. Just watching them felt slightly intrusive, as if the couple felt they were alone. Arya caught sight of her mother wiping her eyes a few metres away, her father's arm wrapped around her. Her eyes travelled across the crowd until she found bright auburn. Sansa stood by Catelyn. Joffrey had his arms by his side.

Jon nudged Arya’s shoulder gently, a comforting gesture. They had ways of showing love and support without speech, Jon and Arya. Her connection to her step brother was in no way bigger or better than her other siblings, but was all the more different.

“Love is a con job,” Jon smirked. “And I refuse to get played.”

A scoff escaped her lips, “That was not what you were saying a few weeks ago. ‘ _Oh, Ygritte! Beautiful Ygritte! Sun of my life!’_ ” Arya mocked, trying not to laugh as the bride and groom twirled around the dance floor for the guests. This time Jon punched her shoulder with more force, just encouraging a laugh from the smaller sibling further. “‘ _Your hair is like the fire that heats my passion! The heat in my-‘_ ”

“ _Arya_!” Jon hissed, causing a few guests to send quizzical looks their way.

“Okay, okay,” she whispered, still smiling. Arya couldn’t really blame Jon, even she was somewhat smitten with Ygritte. The two had met two months back at the bar Jon worked at, The Night's Watch, and she’d caught the fiery Scottish girl sneaking out of their apartment many times since. She was charismatic, snarky and witty, and melted with Jon so well. Teasing him about her was one of her new favourite pastimes.

“Well, what about _Gendry_ , huh? Any further… developments?”

Fair play. Arya fell silent. She’d noticed him on the other side of the hall, attempting to blend in with the guests, but he was too tall; too broad and strongly built. Hiding amongst the swarm of dainty fitted dresses and tailored suits made him stick out like a sore thumb.

“No.” She finally admitted. “He doesn’t want to talk to me anyway.” It was Jon’s turn to scoff.

“His eyes have been saying something different all night.” Arya dug her heel into his foot, and he let out a quiet yelp, earning more glances. “Okay, sorry! But am I wrong?”

 _No_. But if Arya was in his position she wasn’t sure she’d want to talk to her. The couples dance finished up with a thunderous round of applause and cheers, and the dance floor flooded with the rest of the guests. Arya hung back, retreating to the bar, as Jon let himself be pulled into the sea of guests by a particularly merry Loras Tyrell.

Putting on her best faux smile and eye flutter, she rested her head on her hands at the bar and grabbed the attention of the staff member there. “Don’t suppose a girl can get a double vodka and coke?”

“Make that two.”

It wasn’t often that Arya felt stunned into silence. The alarmingly sudden presence of Gendry just about did it, though.

Gathering herself back to a nonchalant poise, Arya pursed her lips and raised a brow at the Baratheon bastard. “Back to where we started?” A smile flickered across his mouth, before pressing his lips into a thin line.

“What good decisions _don’t_ start with a drink?” _Good decisions._ Of course she felt the tinge of sarcasm, but the odd phrasing stuck with her. Did that imply their night together? His approach of her? The silence that settled over them felt like a layer of dust, uncomfortable and waiting to be brushed aside.

“Arya-”

“Do you hate me?”

The guests laughed from the dance floor not far away. Someone came over to order a drink. A baby cried as a mother in a beige, meringue styled dress tried to comfort the crying babe.

“No offence, _m’lady_ , but do you really think that of me?”

Arya felt startled. “Think what?”

“That I would hate you. As if you had no right to leave of your own accord. As if I control who you do or don’t sleep with. As if you owe me anything.” She let his words wash over her as he paused to take a drink. A long drink. “It’s okay, Arya. I get it.”

 _You don’t. I shouldn’t have left. I didn’t realky want to_. “Don’t leave tonight without saying bye.” She blurted out spontaneously, more meant for thought than to be spoken out loud. Arya could imagine herself being drawn to him, as if by a magnetic field, as he looked at her with those eyes that communicated a smile without her even needing to look at his lips.

“I won’t. But, Arya-”

“Oh my god, Arya!” Arya had been too absorbed in their conversation to register anything happening to their left, ‘till a piercing shout beckoned her to the dance floor. “It’s our song!” Jon came bounding over, oblivious to Gendry’s confusion. “Come on!”

Resisting Jon’s pulls, Arya stayed stuck to her chair. “Sorry, what were you saying? Was it important?”

Gendry offered her a small smile and shrug. “Uh, not really. Have fun, Arya.”

None of her believed that response; he was strangely vulnerable. Despite this, she nodded with uncertainty, scared of pushing him away with her prodding, and downed her drink before allowing herself to be dragged away. Her eyes felt glued to Gendry’s form as Jon pulled her onto the floor with everyone else, and immersed her into the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Love you all<3


	6. feel your presence in your absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bare feet, a twist, and breakfast in bed.  
> chapter title from step out by josé gonzález

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit! two updates in the space of like, 5 hours? thanks sleepless nights! honestly i go from 0-100 real quick and i'm very sorry. however please enjoy

**iii**.

Arya was happy. Spinning around the dance floor, dancing to every song even if she’d never heard it, her shoes discarded at the side as she let go. By now it was about nine in the evening. Most of the guests were reclining on chairs, or getting ready to head home. Arya didn’t feel like stopping, not even when she was the last person on the dance floor.

She watched couples drunkenly kiss, absorbed in a hazy kind of love. Robb and Talisa were cuddled up at their table, looking half asleep. Jon, Loras and a few other lads had disappeared an hour or so ago outside on some sort of endeavour, and Sansa had left with her beau before it got dark. Which was all okay; Arya had plenty of relatives and friends to encourage to dance with her, or when that didn’t work she was fine doing her own thing.

Her best efforts were focused on not thinking about Gendry, which perhaps really meant she thought of him more. He wasn’t one to dance, and Arya glimpsed him chatting with guests instead, notably Margaery Tyrell, for quite sometime.

An instinctively nosey person, Arya unashamedly made her way over to them to investigate. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” She smiled foggily, not without hiccuping.

Gendry looked taken aback by her approach, a guilty look written on his face. Margaery was composed, as usual, offering Arya a smile. “Yes, Arya. Do you need to sit down?”

“Nah. I’m having fun!” Arya’s world began to tilt on its axis. “Fun, fun, fun, _fun_.” The words slurred into one.

Before she tripped over her own feet, two hands swooped in to steady her, strong and familiar. Gendry held her up by his side, and she gratefully crumpled into him. His warmth made her drowsy, and his closeness mixed with her drunkenness made her want him closer.

“I’ll take you home.” He meant it for Arya but his eyes met Margaery, and she smiled understandingly at him.

“Sorry, Marge.” Arya rubbed her eyes and they came away smudged with black. “I know you were probably captivated by Gendry’s company. I must steal him away. You can have him back, though.”

Margaery laughed lightly, and she had a way of comforting someone with even the smallest gesture. She was a warm person, easy to talk to, beautiful and intelligent. It was hard not to feel drawn to her; Arya didn’t blame Gendry for seeking her company.

A little voice in Arya’s head taunted her that she would never be like Margaery Tyrell. She’d never be made of elegance and curves and have birds sing for her and boys write poetry for her. Her arms wrapped around Gendry’s waist, her face nuzzling into his shirt.

Unsurprisingly, she fell asleep in the taxi ride home, in Gendry's lap, as she was small enough to curl up on the backseat. A calloused hand played with her hair, and gently stirred her back to whatever was left of her consciousness once they’d arrived. Gendry must have found Jon, as he was clutching her set of keys, which Arya had given to Jon for safe keeping. With one arm he opened the door, the other acted as a crutch for Arya to stumble in, the house alarm beeping. With ease, Gendry disarmed it, locked the door behind them, and helped Arya into the living room and onto the sofa.

Gendry had never been in her house before. Suddenly, she was self conscious, aware of the state of their apartment. “Don’t look.” She mumbled, holding her hands up to cover his eyes.

Chuckling, he grabbed some pillows and a blanket from the other sofa and gave them to Arya to make a bed of sorts, draping the fabric over her.

“I’m _not_ tired.”

“I know.”

“ _Or_ drunk.”

“Okay.”

His fingers brushed the side of her face as she leaned into a pillow, and Arya caught his hand in hers. Pushing herself up, she pressed her lips into his, but the moment didn’t last. Gendry pushed her back down gently, palms steadying her shoulders. Arya could taste cola on his lips, and the ghost of a cigarette.

“We can’t.” He whispered, pulling the blanket that had fallen off back over her.

“Why not?” Arya sounded like a child, her lips frozen in a pout.

“You’re drunk.” He gave her a small smile, his voice soft. “And I’m not.”

Arya frowned, “But I want to! I want _you_.”

Gendry shook his head, rubbing circles on her arm with his thumb absently. “But I don’t know if you’ll still want to in the morning. It’s better this way. Besides, it’s not really… proper for us to be together. Like last time.” There was a tightness to his voice, restrictive and strained. All she wanted was for him to lie down beside her.

“And why not?” Arya demanded.

His hands froze, a conflict flickering across his expression. “I’m-” the words seemed stuck in his mouth. He leaned away from her. “I got engaged, Arya.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but an engagement wasn’t it. _An engagement_. It didn’t make sense. To who? How? Arya hadn’t thought that Robert Baratheon would care enough to marry off his bastard son, heir to nothing. The alcohol in her system almost felt like it had turned sour, the hazy feeling leaving her. A sickness was taking over

“We can talk about it in the morning.” Gendry’s eyes no longer met hers, his tone low. He wasn’t giving her an option. It was a discussion for the morning. The bastard son settled on the other sofa, smaller than the one Arya occupied, meaning his legs hung off the end. Not another word was said.

Arya hardly slept.

 

 **iv**.

 

Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs. Breakfast never smelt so good.

Arya woke up on her sofa, in the living room of her apartment - alone - with the scent of cooking wafting in. The radio mumbled from in the kitchen, a song that sounded like only a hum. Her head hurt, and propping herself up, the rest of her body didn’t feel too great either. The clock on the wall read ten in the morning.

In her daze, Arya expected Jon to walk in, surprised that he’d gone to such lengths to make her breakfast. But she didn’t remember him coming home last night. In fact, she’d gone home with-

He entered the room, clad in clothes from the night before, except considerably more creased, and with a ketchup stain on his shirt. Gendry carried a tray displaying an assortment of breakfast goods, including a bacon sandwich, fried eggs, mushrooms and pancakes; only slightly burnt. He placed it down on the coffee table beside Arya, before taking a seat on the sofa she’d remembered he slept on.

“Morning.” Arya’s throat was dry, and she reached for the orange juice first. A steaming cup of coffee also looked welcoming. “Didn’t know you were a domestic goddess. Nigella Lawson, who?”

Gendry broke out in a grin. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Yeah. I know.” The atmosphere turned cold fast. Arya stared down at her breakfast to distract herself from meeting Gendry’s eyes.

“Arya,” he began, saying her name almost like a prayer. He rested his head in his palms, eyes pleadingly trying to meet hers. “It’s… it’s all a mess.”

“Were you engaged when we slept together?” She cut into an egg, using a piece of bread to mop up the yolk.

“God, no. _No_.” His head shook feverently. “Well, I’d discussed it with my dad. But nothing was agreed.”

Arya pressed down harder with her knife.

“Who is it?”

Gendry didn’t respond. He was staring at Arya’s actions with her knife and fork. She stopped cutting, hands still gripping the cutlery. Wouldn’t it be funny if Jon walked in, right now, Arya thought bitterly. What a pair they must look like.

“It’s Margaery Tyrell.” He forced the name out, and Arya felt her stomach drop. _Fuck_. Where had the signs been? How hadn’t she seen that? Lovely, pretty, kind Margaery Tyrell. Heir to the Tyrell fortune, socialite and popular figure. Snow White personified.

Slowly, Arya pushed her fork into part of a pancake, dripping in syrup. “Oh.”

She was alarmed when Gendry took to his knees beside her, and even more alarmed when she noticed how upset he’d become. He was almost forlorn, and it cruelly reminded him of a deer. A stag was part of the Baratheon Industries logo. “It’s arranged, Arya. My father thinks it will establish me in the business as more than a bastard. I think it’s stupid. Margaery thinks it’s stupid. We-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” She hadn’t even expected those words to leave her mouth, and hardly registered them as her own as they did. But the words were true. “We’re-we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. It’s not a big deal.”

“Fuck, Arya. We have a connection, can’t you see that? I’ve never felt as good as I did when we were together! Or when we’re together now, whatever the circumstances. Don’t push me away.”

 _Push him away?_ “Push _you_ away? Gendry, I’m not the one that’s engaged!” She shouted, nearly knocking the food off the coffee table as her hands flew up. “You don’t think you’ve been on my mind every day and night since Sansa’s wedding? You don’t think-”

His hands were cupping her face in an instant, lips pushing her back against the sofa as quick, hard kisses left her breathless. Gendry climbed onto the sofa, his hands roaming everywhere as if he couldn't get enough of her. All of Arya’s sense were suddenly in overdrive, her hangover forgotten as his mouth caressed the side of her neck. She wrestled him out of his shirt, not caring if she ripped off the buttons in the process. Arya had passed out in her dress, and being free of it was a welcome and freeing feeling.

His lips moved to her breasts, taking each nipple between his teeth sensually. Arya’s fingernails scratched at his bare shoulders, grasping for something to hold on to as he sent shivers and convulsions through her body. Their mouths connected like they were gasping for air; they fit together like a lock and key, their bodies feeling perfectly in sync. His weight above her wasn't trapping, it felt safe. (Although, Arya still preferred it on top.) Gendry’s palms were just slipping past her waist to her underwear, his bottom lip caught between her teeth, when a key in the front door made her push him off. Jon entered abruptly, no longer in his wedding clothes but dressed in what looked like red hot pants and a hawaiian shirt, a lei adorning his neck.

“Arya!” He called, standing in the doorway to the living room, but facing the stairs, assuming she was in bed. Gendry and Arya were perfectly still, his arms holding him above her. Discreetly, Arya snatched Gendry’s discarded shirt from the floor and lay it over her chest. “Honey, I’m home!” Jon laughed to himself, and turned into the living room. “Arya-”

“Hey, Jon.” Gendry gave him a sheepish smile. “How, uh- how are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew! glad we got THAT out of the way ... i think i may be back into the flow of this story but i don't wanna promise anything. also, happy christmas! i don't break up for the holidays until the 20th:( but feeling very merry already!!


	7. home is wherever I’m with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the trios morning, a phone call, a coffee shop meeting.  
> title from home by edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helllooo this chapter is pretty plot/sansa heavy ? spoilers ? not a lot of Gendry >:( but just wait !!! also happy Christmas to u all if I don’t update before then!!

**v**.

 

 

“So,”

The three, young, ambiguously single adults sat around the table in the kitchen. Arya was drowning in her oversized University sweater (from before she dropped out) and some shorts, whilst Gendry had been graciously lent one of Jon’s old tshirts and some trousers. Her step brother was fiddling with the spoon he’d used to stir his coffee.

“Anyone hungry?” Jon looked between the two, who were awkwardly staring at the table as if it was extremely interesting. The situation was almost funny, with Gendry in Jon’s clothes and Jon’s faux casualness about walking in on them only half an hour prior.

“Uh, a bit.” Gendry admitted gruffly. Somewhat guiltily, it occurred to Arya that he mustn’t have had anything to eat since the meal at the wedding the day before. He’d only made breakfast for Arya this morning, and it had gone cold by now.

“I’ll do it-“ Arya offered, but Jon held out his hand abruptly to halt her.

“You’re not making me, or anyone else, breakfast again for a _long_ time.” Jon turned to Gendry and rolled his eyes, “Unless you _like_ your eggs black?”

Arya sunk sulkily into her chair, a sour look on her face. So she wasn’t a domestic goddess; big deal. Gendry seemed smugly amused, and she kicked his leg with her foot under the table, only causing him to smirk harder. Her brother got up to turn the radio on, ungracefully grabbing some pans to prepare some food. Arya was fidgeting with a pencil that had been left on the table when she felt the warmth of a hand on her thigh. Stubbornly, she refused to let him see the smile that crept its way onto her lips, as his thumb ghosted gently over the goosebumps on her bare skin.

A song began to play on the radio that Arya knew from the soundtracks to various films circa the 80s. Jon was whistling to himself along to the song over the oven. The bullheaded bastard boy she’d had dreams about for the past months was beside her. For a moment, everything felt a peculiar sort of okay. Surreal, but okay nonetheless. it was almost enough to make her forget that this particular bullheaded bastard boy sat next to her was engaged.

Gendry must have felt her tense up, as his hand slipped away, leaving her cold. “I want to make this work, Arya.” His voice was low, but Arya knew Jon would be straining his hearing to listen in.

“I really don’t see how you can do that.” She thought about how he’d looked after her last night, and stayed with her till the morning. How he’d let her go that morning after Sansa’s wedding, never pressured her or made her feel bad for leaving. He may have been bullheaded, but all Arya saw now was vulnerability and openness. She wished their families were nobodies, with no business or legacy to hold them back or tie them down. The people she cared for most always got hurt, or fucked over.

“Arya,” He sighed, sounding tired. How could one person make her name sound so good coming from his lips? “You of all people understand how complicated this is. Family business-”

“Oh, fuck family business!” Arya’s outburst made Jon freeze for a second. She hadn’t even meant for that to come out so passionately. Her shoulders sagged, wishing the floor would swallow her and her chair up whole. “You make it really tough to hate you. You should try harder.” She smiled sarcastically at him, to which he only raised his eyebrows, repressing the grin on his face.

The landline began to ring abruptly, and Arya sprang for it as a distraction. “Hello?”

“Oh. Arya.” It was Sansa. She sounded quiet, and oddly shy. “I, uh…”

“Is everything okay?” Arya blurted out, clutching the curled wire of the phone. When was the last time her and Sansa had talked one on one? “How are you? We didn’t get much chance to talk yesterday.”

“Would it be okay to meet up later? Get coffee?” Something inside Arya loosened, like a knot being untied.

“Yes, yes. Yeah! That’s fine. Usual place?” They hadn’t hung out at Maple’s Corner in months. What had been an at least bimonthly event had become redundant, the connection lost. Arya hoped desperately they could respark it. To her delight, Sansa let out a soft laugh on the other end of the line.

“That would be nice. Is three okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. See you.”

After she hung up, Arya stayed facing the wall for a moment, unwilling to leave the moment she’d just had and return to the dilemma sat behind her.

“Who was that?” Jon was staring at her with concern, his shaggy hair falling over his eyes.

She shrugged with faux nonchalance. “Just dear sister, Sansa.”

Jon’s face was instantly riddled with concern. “Oh, shit. Fuck. Is she okay?”

“She wants to meet for coffee.” Arya could see Gendry watching them out of the corner of her eye. He was clasping a mug of tea he must’ve been passed whilst she was on the phone. “Want me to drop you off on my way?” He was taken aback by the proposition, but nodded slowly.

“Yeah, thanks.” He agreed gruffly, his barriers now back up.

“Okay, well I’m going to go get, uh, changed.” She nodded awkwardly, backing out of the room and leaving Gendry to fend for himself against her protective step brother.

 

 

 **vi**.

 

 

Gendry was still dressed in Jon’s clothes when he squeezed into the shotgun seat of Jon’s abmismally tiny car, the ones from last night slung over his arm. He was by no means a small guy, possibly twice the height of Arya and with broader shoulders than Jon. She tried to push the ridiculously attractive nature of his dishevelled look from her mind, as to not accidentally lose focus of driving and crash the car. If the crash didn’t kill her, Jon certainly would for inflicting a scratch on his baby. The only thing Jon loved more than his car was his childhood dog, Ghost, and maybe _then_ Arya and his family.

“Where to?”

A silence fell for a moment, as Gendry refused to tear his eyes away from Arya. It felt as if he were searching for something.

“Uh, the train station would be great. God, my dad is gonna love me turning up like this. I can already see his face.” He chuckled to himself, and Arya involuntarily smiled fondly.

The journey felt excruciatingly long with him in such close proximity under such awkward circumstances. She hadn’t eaten anything since he kissed her, and she swore that she could still taste him on her lips. Or maybe she was going mad. The train station was only ten minutes from their flat, and Arya forced herself out of the car to say goodbye when they arrived.

“Don’t leave it another three months, Arya. Call, text, I don’t care. Anything from m’lady would be appreciated.” He grinned as she punched him in the arm for the use of ‘m’lady’, but her heart wasn’t really in it. Letting her emotions get the better of her, she pushed herself up on her tiptoes and wrapped both arms around his neck. Jon’s aftershave and the lingering smell of the cigarette he’d had before they left overwhelmed her senses, her face nestled in the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around her gently, fingers gripping the fabric of the sweater that almost swallowed her small frame. She swore she would’ve kissed him then and there if it weren’t so public a space.

Gendry’s touch lingered on her as she pulled away, refusing to meet his eyes. She climbed back into the car without another word, only turning to watch him leave when she knew he wasn’t looking. The clock in the cars dashboard read 2:56, and she cursed when she realised she’d be late if she didn’t hurry. Her sister had always been one for punctuality.

Sansa didn’t look the same. The usual argument inducing effort she put into her appearance was absent. They’d spent most of their teenage years having shouting competitions about how long Sansa took to get ready, but today she was basically bare faced, her hair slung in a messy ponytail. The bags under eyes were almost big enough to mask the bruise she’d tried covering up below her left eye. It was at least 15 degrees out and she was dressed in a turtleneck and sweatpants, fingers tapping the mug in her hands.

She apprehended her sister like she were a wild animal, smiling with uncertainty as she approached. “Hey,” Arya settled into a seat beside her. Maple’s Corner was a quaint coffee shop in the centre of York, but hidden on a smaller road from the busier streets. The Stark sisters were sat on the large, worn sofas at the back, where only the waitresses would bother them. “How are you?”

“Fine.” God, she looked so tired. “You?”

Where to start? “I’m prepared to divulge the past months events after at least one slice of chocolate fudge cake.”

“And Jon?”

Arya nodded, absently looking over the menu as if she didn’t know it by heart. “He’s great. He’s... _Jon_. He gets by.” Sansa smiled softly, and she looked much older than 20. Arya was overwhelmed with her resemblance to their mother. The Tully looks we’re striking in her.

“I miss you guys.” She then admitted, not meeting her younger sisters eyes. Sansa didn’t expand on this, so Arya prompted her into conversation with more small talk. How was living in London? How was Lady? Did the water really taste different down south? Basically, anything and everything under the sun that didn’t explicitly reference Joffrey. The bruise under her eye seemed more prominent the harder Arya tried not to look at it.

It had been at least an hour of Arya rambling about York and Robb and Jon and their younger siblings Bran and Rickon when Sansa started to frown, fidgeting more as if uncomfortable.

“Arya?”

“Yeah?”

A pause.

“I-I think I’m getting a divorce.”

There were a numerous amount of things that Arya was ready for Sansa to confess, good and bad, but she couldn’t say this was one of them. She was stumped for a good few minutes, Sansa unrelenting with her eye contact suddenly, waiting for a reaction.

“Well, fuck.” Arya managed. “Does mother know? Or father?”

“Joffrey doesn’t even know.”

“Fuck.” _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Sansa’s body language had changed, as if the confession had set a part of her free. “Did he do that to you?” Arya asked suddenly, pointing to her eye.

“It was… an accident.”

Arya was angry. The sofa wasn’t acting as a good enough relief for the anger, her fingernails digging into the fabric. It was hard for her to not instantly think of what she could’ve done to stop this. She knew Sansa had practically secluded herself from the Stark family since her marriage, but Arya felt instantly guilty for not noticing anything sooner.

“Arya, it’s not your fault.”

“You’re right. It’s Joffrey’s. I’m gonna kill him. I will actually kill him. Wait until Jon knows-“

“No.” For the first time since Arya had arrived, Sansa was all fire. “Jon can’t know. Not yet. I’ve been meeting with a lawyer-“ It wasn’t that Arya didn’t want to listen to what Sansa had to say, but more that she couldn’t. She felt sick; her emotions overcome with anger and frustrations and the need to stab something with a very pointy object. Sansa was explaining this lawyers standpoint on her divorce and her ways out, and Arya was plotting the soonest possible way to organise a hit on her sister's husband.

It was too much, and if it was too much for Arya she couldn’t imagine what Sansa had been feeling in the past few months. Arya didn’t hug Sansa often, but this was justified. The feeling of hot tears on her neck only intensified the fury in her. How _dare_ he. How _dare_ Joffrey Baratheon make Sansa Stark feel this way. How _dare_ he lay a hand on her.

“Come live with me.” Arya pleaded, holding her hands on either side of her sisters shoulders.

Sansa shook her head, “I can’t. I’ll get out soon, Arya. I’m working on it. He won’t ever come near me again.”

Arya began to pull angrily at the thread of her sweater sleeved, nearly unravelling it. “Joffrey Baratheon can’t fuck with the Stark’s and get away with it. Winter is coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the support you beautiful people <333


	8. not so good with inbetween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party, a costume, faces from the past.  
> Title from Every Day’s The Weekend by Alex Lahey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I RETURN   
> Sorry if there are any mistakes, I’m lazy

_**Jon** : Halloween party at mine on the 31st. 10pm until we all pass the fuck out. Bring booze. Bring merriment. Wear a costume. Cheers._

**i.**

 

“You are coming tonight, aren’t you?”

Arya lounged on the sofa in their flat, Ygritte on her left with her slender, freckled legs draped across Jon. The TV was on, but acting more as ambience than entertainment. She was scrolling through her Instagram feed (Sansa had coerced her into making one), whilst the couple-but-not-“official”-couple beside her had been teasing each other about things Arya had learned to tune out.

She raised a brow at Jon as she looked over at him from her phone. “To a party? At my own flat?”

Rolling his eyes, Jon reached over to punch her playfully. “Yes. Exactly that. Didn’t know if you were gonna swan off on some date with a mysterious stranger. Just thought I’d check.” Arya may have also joined a popular dating app, possibly due to Sansa’s influence, mixed a continued lack of communication between herself and a Baratheon.

Arya kissed her teeth, “You’re ridiculous. Of course I’m coming.”

“Just so you know, the guest list is no longer in my control.” Jon sent her a suggestive shrug, running a hand through Ygritte’s hair slowly.

He was implying that Gendry may be on said guest list; Jon had no idea how to be subtle. Obviously, this had already crossed Arya’s mind. Gendry had crossed her mind many times in the past two months, possible party invite situation included. The wanker had her number, why wouldn’t he reach out? Things had got more awkward too; every time she saw Margaery, Arya felt overwhelmed with a sense of futile anger she knew wasn’t truly Margaery’s fault. Everyone _loved_ Margaery, and she selfishly hoped Gendry wasn’t everyone.

“D’ya have a costume?” Ygritte pondered absently, practically purring at the affection from Jon. Arya was two seconds off seeking refuge from the third wheel treatment in her room.

She did; and her levels of self conscience were through the roof at the idea of actually wearing it. Jon and Arya were avid Star Wars fans, and always had been. Their father had got them into it, when Robb had shown no interest. Sansa’s stance on the films was neutral, and Bran was a Star Trek fan. Rickon had just recently got into them, and Arya and Jon were planning on holding a marathon sleepover with him at theirs at some point. When Arya had bought her costume, it had had been funny. Now the idea of actually wearing it sent her anxiety haywire. Body confidence was not her strong suit; fencing? Ace. Sarcasm and dark humour? A master comedian. Mouthing off against a Lannister? Let her at ‘em. But Arya’s fears about her appearance were rooted in childhood teasing.

Arya shrugged and moved her head in a way that meant “so-so”, but Jon wouldn’t let it go.

“Dear sister, if you don’t wear that costume I will disown you. You will be thrown from this house and cast-”

Her phone buzzed.

_**Sansa** : coming tonight._

She stared at the screen for a moment, blinking at the two pixelated words.

_**Arya** : alone?_

Her sisters reply didn’t take longer than 30 seconds.

_**Sansa** : alone._

“An admirer?” Jon joked. What was Sansa going to wear? This development of Sansa showing an appearance sparked a new wave of nerves. Memories of their early years pained her, of Sansa and her friends calling her “Horseface”, or of people fawning over Sansa and commenting only on the Stark resemblance in Arya. Two sisters, unknowingly pitted against each other since birth. Arya had worked hard with Sansa to overcome that, and she wouldn’t let unnecessary anxiety ruin it.

“Sister Sansa letting me know of her desire to grace our presence this evening.” Arya could see the smile he was trying to downplay. Ygritte grinned too; the red headed pair got on surprisingly well.

“I, for one, think this is gonna be a great night.” Jon beamed.

“Aye, not sure you’ll be thinking the same way when you’re shit faced and it’s three in the morning and there’s sick in the sink and shower.” Joked Ygritte, making Arya grimace at the mental image. It wasn’t far off their past experience with house parties. Eventually pushing herself off the sofa, Arya was making her way to the kitchen when her phone vibrated again. She panicked for a moment that it would be Sansa cancelling, AND wasn’t too calmed by the reality of what she read.

_**Bullheaded Bastard** : see you tonight?_

His last words to her at the train station only two months ago echoed in her head. “ _Don’t leave it another three months, Arya. Call, text, I don’t care. Anything from m’lady would be appreciated._ ” Again, Arya had fucked that up. She had actually texted him—a grand total of once—since then, and only under the circumstances of alcohol abuse (and Jon’s nagging). As much as she would’ve loved to kick things off with Gendry, the elephant in the room, who happened to be a beautiful, charismatic and practically angelic model, was fucking with her sense of morality. And Arya often liked to think she had some morality. She disregarded her phone on the kitchen counter and opted to take a shower. A cold one.

Sharing a flat with Jon was good for many reasons; sharing bills, always someone to watch a movie with, late night wandering and one of them was always making a cup of tea. The lack of showers, however, was not one of these. Having a single shower between them had always been problematic, in between Arya’s long fencing lessons and Jon’s jogging, both of them were regular shower takers. Even more so, it seemed, now Jon was seeing Ygritte. Specifically, when she was round, and even more specifically, when they were together — in the shower.

Arya had complained about this to Jon, to which he had accused her with a raised brow of jealousy. She was not jealous. The idea of someone’s hands holding her tight, under the beating down of hot water, lips caressing skin, hadn’t recently occurred to Arya; definitely not in a dream. Definitely not with a particular bastard. Definitely not.

When Arya was out of the shower, she entered her room to find her Star Wars costume sprawled out across the bed, as if it had magically been transferred there. Jon was _really_ pushing it.

 

  
**ii**.

 

The fridge was full of drinks, and snacks littered most surfaces across the downstairs floor of the flat. Jon and Ygritte had spent nearly two hours arranging various Halloween decorations; spider webs on walls and paintings, a glow in the dark skeleton, carved pumpkins and bat themed bunting. Neither Arya nor Jon were in costume yet, but Ygritte had just snuck upstairs to get changed. Loras was one of the first guests to arrive—minus Margaery—dressed head to toe in tight, Lycra green.

“Robin Hood? A leprechaun?” Jon tried to guess, stifling laughter as Loras adjusted his tights, clearly uncomfortable.

He frowned. “Peter Pan!” Loras sighed defensively, “Robin Hood? I don't even have a bow and arrow!”

Jon shrugged. “You could be a pacifist Robin Hood.”

“Debating with the rich and giving to the poor.” Offered Ygritte, appearing from upstairs, dressed in what looked like medieval attire underneath armour. Blue paint was streaked across her face, and she'd let her hair fall curly and wild, fiery auburn ringlets.

Jon was too wrapped up in how stunning she looked to register who she was even dressed as, and Loras’ face fell to confusion too.

“Boudicca?” Arya suggested with a grin, causing Ygritte to vigorously nod.

“That's not Halloween-y.” Loras argued.

“And why not?” Ygritte challenged with all the fire of the real Boudicca.

“I think she’s pretty scary,” Arya laughed, “I wouldn’t wanna fuck with her.”

The blonde raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head towards her step brother, “I think Jon would,” earning him a punch in the arm.

Before anyone else could arrive, Arya dragged Jon upstairs to change. Jon emerged ten or so minutes later in her room dressed in robes, with a red and gold tie and round glasses. A red lighting bolt had been etched on his forehead with eyeliner, which made Arya stifle a laugh. Her own costume lay on her bed where she’d left it before attending to guests, and for a moment she just stood staring at the attire. It was Padme’s Geonosis costume from Attack of the Clones; a simple white jumpsuit with a tan utility belt.

Arya slipped into it after kicking Jon out, ignoring the self conscious thoughts running through her mind. She was going to have fun (and get shit faced). No negative thoughts. And, she had to admit, she felt badass wearing the costume.

She joined her half brother on the landing, the sound of the party downstairs indicating it was getting almost into full swing already; the time read nine in the evening. Guests must have been let in by Ygritte whilst they were upstairs.

“You look great,” Jon grinned, bringing her into his side for a half hug.

“A compliment? I am shocked and flattered.” Arya joked, feigning surprise. He shook his head and she followed him down to the hallway, just as Ygritte opened the door to more guests arriving. Trystane Martell practically fell into the flat, laughing and dressed as a very eccentric pirate. Trailing behind him, looking less amused, was his cousin Obella Sand, donning a very good Wednesday Addams outfit. Neither Jon nor Arya knew either of them that well, and Arya was shocked that they’d even bothered to come all the way from Bristol for this party. Perhaps they were visiting other people too.

“ _Padme Amidala?_ ” Slurred Trystane, upon noticing Arya on the staircase, and bringing everyone’s attention to her suddenly. The faux pirate laughed, “You look so good! Where’s the drinks?” Obella rolled her eyes.

Arya’s cheeks felt like fire; Jon pushed her down the last few steps to prompt her, and slung an arm around Ygritte, who was smirking at Arya.

“What?” she hissed at the ginger.

“Nothing.” Ygritte mumbled, kissing Jon.

Arya had been right; more guests had arrived whilst she was getting changed. The kitchen and living room were full of a hilarious mix of characters, drinking and cheering. Wonder Woman was laughing with a skeleton, and a pumpkin was making out with Frankenstein monster on one of the sofas.

Jumping at the feel of someone’s hand on her shoulder, Arya whipped around and nearly bumped into a familiar face. “Mycah, hi.” She sighed, forcing a small smile.

“Hey, Arry.” Cringe. “Nice party!”

“Thanks.” Her tone was short. She hadn’t expected Mycah to have the balls to turn up.

“Well, how-”

“Arya!” Jon’s call was a welcome excuse to leave this conversation before it properly started. Mycah was dressed as a zombie, in ripped clothes and splattered in fake blood. Arya couldn’t help but feel guilty avoiding him, especially if he just wanted to chat, but she couldn’t handle it. Excusing herself from the awkward encounter, she followed Jon’s shout back out to the hall, where Jon stood beside Poison Ivy.

She was nearly six foot of leg and green Lycra, auburn hair draping over her chest and down to her midsection. Sansa Stark looked like she could kill a man, so Arya figured she looked the part of Poison Ivy. Her sister looked almost sheepish as Jon closed the door behind her, and Arya flew into her with a hug.

“Why do you always have to outdo me?” She joked, releasing her sister and rolling her eyes.

Sansa laughed, “I don’t know about that. You make a pretty badass… uh…” she didn’t know who Arya was dressed as; it didn’t matter. Her sister had turned up to her Halloween party, not trailed by the dark shadow of her soon to be ex-husband. Arya lead Sansa into the kitchen and in the direction of drinks, of which Arya wanted many. So many familiar faces was rather overwhelming; Her family, her sort-of ex, her old best friends and new.

Arya was just reaching for a bottle of cider when her fingers brushed against someone else’s doing the exact same thing, and his eyes were a striking and familiar blue.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I wanted to write a Halloween party in January I love Halloween and dressing up so SUE ME


	9. can he love her onto her bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the party continues, drinking games and bathrooms.
> 
> chapter title from onto her bed by blossoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prodigal daughter returns ! hope you’re all well :)

**iii**.

 

She wished she could wipe that stupid grin off his face.

No, she wasn’t blushing. Had someone turned up the heating? Arya squirmed like a bug under a microscope; the microscope being Gendry’s amused gaze. She could hardly believe what she was seeing; the Baratheon was dressed in a (pretty shoddy) Han Solo costume, a fake gun holstered on his waist, waistcoat and all.

“Before you say anything,” Arya snapped, pointing a finger in his face. “We do not match. There’s no way Padme would-would get with her daughters boyfriend! That’s-that’s almost...Lannister-esque. _God_.” She was ranting, her eyes searching for the nearest exit to cool herself down as Gendry’s stifled laughter rang in her ears.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.” He shrugged, struggling to wipe the smirk off his face. “Wouldn’t _dare_ insult the Queen of Naboo.”

Arya huffed again, “Whatever.”

“Whatever?” He raised a brow, “that’s all m’lady can come up with?”

“I need a drink. Or twelve.”

She spun around right into the arms of Sansa, who caught her by her elbows, and was staring with an intrigued kind of smile at Gendry Baratheon.

“Sansa, nice to see you.” Arya had practically forgot that it was likely that Gendry and Sansa saw each other more frequently than Arya saw Gendry. She wondered if they’d sat and talked; shared jokes, ate meals together, considered each other friends. Or if they avoided each other, much like Arya found herself doing.

“Gendry, looking well.” She nodded at him, and they exchanged a look that Arya couldn’t quite understand, as if there were some mutual understanding between the two.

“Fancy a game of ring of fire? Some of the guys have started in the living room.” Sansa suggested, nudging Arya and looking between the two with a raised brow. What better way to calm her nerves than a few shots? Arya followed Sansa suit through to their living room where Jon, Ygritte and Loras sat in a circle with a number of guests, particularly familiar faces including a reappearance of Trystane Martell, Jeyne Poole, Gendry’s cousin Shireen and someone with strikingly white hair she would hazard a guess may have been Daenerys Targaryen. The large group all sat around a deck of cards and a cup that was already filling up. She tried not to think about the presence of Gendry behind her, or the way his hand brushed against hers in the hallway.

What ensued next was not Arya’s finest hour. It felt like everyone kept somehow getting her to drink, and before long the room was swirling. Faces with wide grins and bellowing laughter added to the hazy happiness she felt, squeezed between her brother and her sister and surrounded by drunk and joyful friends. Gendry sat parallel to her, and she felt a warmth spread within her to see him having such a good time.

His hair was growing out, along with his facial hair. A dark little curl fell across his forehead despite his best attempts to push it back. Every time his face contorted with laughter she felt herself that little bit more attracted to him, in the same sense that a magnet attracts to an opposite magnetic force. Shireen spoke words to him that she couldn’t hear, the intimacy between the cousins making her guiltily feel a twinge of jealousy. They were cousins, and the better of a batch of monsters, so of course they were close.

Arya’s bladder was almost bursting, and the excuse to go to the toilet at least stopped her from so obviously staring at Gendry all night long. She avoided looking at him as she pushed herself up unsteadily, and through the crowd congregating in the hallway. The bathroom was unsurprisingly occupied, and she lazily rammed her fist against the door. A woman she didn’t know came stumbling out a few moments later, looking disheveled, and Arya practically catapulted herself in after her.

For a while, she just sat there, lost in a train of thought with her underwear around her ankles. The ambient, muffled noise of the sound and the music downstairs was almost calming. To saviour in the silence for a few minutes was grounding. She had to pull herself together; the man downstairs, that she was so entranced by, was going to get married. To someone who wasn’t her. In an arrangement that was out of her - and their - control. The next person wanting to get into the bathroom began knocking on the door, pulling Arya out of her state. She fumbled to unlock the door, and before it was even all the way open a body slipped inside with her.

He was so close, and so still. Gendry stood with his back to the door, staring down at her, with the smell of some recent alcoholic concoction emanating off him like an aura. His lips were within reach. His hesitation was causing her to lose her breath fast.

“Tell me not to.” He muttered, eyes focused on her, flitting between her features for some sort of sign. “Tell me you don’t want this. And I’ll leave.” His fingers ghosted gently against her wrists, brushing them with the delicate touch of a feather. “Tell me that you don’t want us to be together.”

“We shouldn’t.” She’s mustered up enough to resolve for her voice to come out strong, but the breathy quality to it was inescapable. Drinking from bottles had made his lips redder, and she found herself staring at a mole she’d never noticed before on his chin. How hadn’t she noticed it before?

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He repeated, but slower.

Arya couldn’t. “Gendry, I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” She whispered it like a mantra, moving so close she could brush her nose against his. “I can’t tell you that.” Morality wrestled inside of her against her instinct.

Gendry tested a kiss on Arya’s cheek, lips lingering for a few too many seconds. His grip tightened slowly on her wrists, bringing her deeper into his personal space. Another kiss, on her cheekbone, peppered down to her jawline, touching every inch of skin of her face except her lips.

“I want this.” It was a plea. Arya pulled her hands free from his grip and wrapped them around his neck, trapping his mouth with hers. He quickly locked the door before twirling her body around to be pinned against the door by his bulky frame. She was starved of him, and she couldn’t get enough of him to feel full. Removing his Halloween costume proved a minor inconvenience, but before she could take her own one off, he stopped her.

“Wait, leave it on. For now.” He suggested breathlessly. Arya would have laughed.

“Kinky, much?” She teased, rolling her eyes as he began to suck on her neck, his hands gripping her hips whilst she pushed her crotch against him.

He scoffed, kissing her again. “Shut up.” His eyes were only on the sink counter for a second before he had her wrapped around his waist, and pushed up against the hard, cold surface. Distantly, Arya registered a banging on the bathroom door, but Gendry’s slipping of his hand into the warmth of her underwear made everything else seem very suddenly insignificant. His fingers dipped in and out of her as she gripped on his hair, thankful he was growing it out so there was more to hold on to.

“We-we should move,” she managed between suppressing a gasp, “to my room.”

Gendry laughed against her neck. “And have to leave you alone again? Even for a minute?”

“I _promise_ my bed is more comfortable than the bath.”

 

 

  
**iv.**

 

 

  
Arya pulled the arm wrapped around her waist closer, blinking hazily as sleep began to wear off on her. It took a few minutes for her to clock that there wasn’t usually someone else in her bed, but she didn’t need to think twice; she knew it was Gendry. His increasingly familiar warmth and strength embracing her was as comforting as ever. She was wearing nothing but her underwear, and the more she woke up, the more of last night come flooding back to her. Gently, she moved his arm away, allowing herself to survey the room.

Clothes were strewn around the bed, disregarded. The curtains hadn’t been drawn, and the amber glow of the morning sun was seeping in. She rolled over to read the alarm clock, and the red numbers stung her eyes as they adjusted. It was barely 8am. Arya groaned, and slipped out of the bed to grab a tshirt to put on. Gendry didn’t stir.

The hallway was a total mess; cups and bottles and rubbish littered the floor, the bannister and the staircase. Someone was asleep at the top of the stairs, and she crept around them lightly. The whole house was silent, in an eerie, euphoric sort of way. A quick look in the living room saw a few more guests passed out, and more mess. Arya had to do a double take upon entering the kitchen. Sansa stood in front of the oven, clutching a pan that had pancake batter in, and wrapped in a silky peach coloured kimono. Her hair was pinned up, and she was humming along to herself.

“What the fuck.” Arya laughed, the pain in her head twinging a bit at the sudden energy.

Her sister whirled around and smiled sheepishly, “I couldn’t really sleep. Thought I may as well.” She shrugged.

“No, no. Don’t mind me. Looks delicious.” Arya slumped herself down onto one of the remaining chairs at the table, (god knows where the rest had gone) and tried not to think about the cleanup job her and Jon would be doing later.

Sansa was weirdly silent. It didn’t take a detective to figure she wanted to say something, but was hesitant.

“Spit it out.” Arya sighed, pulling her arms inside her shirt for warmth.

“You may want to be...more careful.” The red head said carefully, as if approaching a deer.

Arya frowned, “How so?”

Slowly, Sansa scraped a pancake off the pan and onto a plate, walking over to serve it to her sister. “You don’t think that no one noticed yours and Gendry’s absence, do you?”

Her stomach lurched suddenly. Of _course_ they had been that stupid. Of _course_ their friends were that curious. But no one knew of Gendry’s engagement, right? It could’ve just seemed like a fling, or something, right? Sansa found another chair to pull up to the table, where she gave Arya a look that so strikingly resembled their mother Catelyn.

“Arya, you know about Margaery, don’t you?”

“I-I, I mean-”

Sansa sighed, and it sounded almost pitiful. It made Arya angry. “I thought you may have.”

“You have no idea what’s going on.” Arya raised her voice, but was careful not to shout. Their friends were only in the next room.

She pursed her lips, “I know Gendry has been promised to Margaery Tyrell. I know their wedding is surely imminent.” Her tone softened, “I know you like him. I can tell he likes you. It’s just not-”

“It’s just not right, _right_? Right, Sansa? Cause you’re the best person to be giving relationship advice right now.” As soon as the words had spitefully left her mouth, she regretted them. Sansa’s face hardened, barriers coming up. “Sansa, shit, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, that’s fair.” Sansa nodded, avoiding her younger sisters eyes. “That’s fair. I’m just trying to stop you from breaking your own heart, Arya. Cause I know what it’s like to be broken.”

There wasn’t anything Arya felt she could say to that. No witty response or harsh remark. Arya couldn’t possibly know what the months Sansa had spent with Joffrey had been like. She’d watched helplessly as her naive, fawning sister fell in love with a sadistic monster, and Arya had fought to help her, but only ended up being there to pick up the pieces with her after.

The pancake had gone cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I know that it says 13 chapters but idk if it will be that, just based on what I’ve already written I’m estimating it’ll be that long ? who knows !!
> 
> anywaaaayyy kudos and comments are awesome !!


	10. you can hear it in the silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the cleanup. a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay hello i know it's been what? four months since my last upload? so im praying that there are some readers still out there lol but i have FINISHED college and hoping to get back into my writing groove this summer! so lets see how this goes. also sorry this is short, i know my updates are sporadic in length, it's just cause im a mess, but the next chapter will be bigger and better :)

Thankfully, Sansa, Jon and Ygritte managed to kick everyone out by the afternoon. People trickled out reluctantly, half dressed and disgruntled. Arya left Gendry asleep, which he stayed until late after lunch. Meanwhile, they cleaned up. It was gross; not just empty cups and bottles but food and sticky substances to clean up in all corners of the flat. Arya didn't know how people could be so messy, before looking back on her own drunken behaviour over the years and deciding actually, she did know. She’d been there.

She was grateful for her siblings for getting rid of the guests, especially when it meant there would be less of a scene. The idea of someone seeing gendry emerging from Arya’s room was almost terrifying. By the time Gendry did emerge, he was rubbing the sleep from his eyes and smiling. As soon as he saw Arya in the kitchen, he swooped in and wrapped his arms around her waist, picking her up and spinning her around as if something great had just happened.

“Oh, no,” she cried halfheartedly, “seriously, I’m too hungover to be spun right now. Fuck.” But laughter had escaped her laugh, tied up in Gendry’s embrace, surrounded by the people she cared for the most.

Gendry just laughed too, before leaning down to meet her lips fully and deeply, hands cupped around either side of her face.

“You're in a good mood.” Arya raised a brow, confidently taking one of his hands in hers.

“Am I glowing? I feel like I’m glowing.” He joked.

She used her free hand to punch him in the arm, “You're so over dramatic. Come have lunch, hopefully there's something salvageable to eat.”

In the kitchen, Jon was eating peanut butter from the jar, Ygritte had toasted the end of a slice of bread and smothered it in jam, and Sansa was eating a bowl of chopped fruit. Arya hadn't even known they  _ had  _ that much fruit in the flat. Surely she hadn't brought her own.

“Morning, Gen!” Jon mumbled through a mouthful of peanut butter, raising his spoon as a  _ hello _ . 

Arya stared bemusedly at her brother. “ _ Gen? _ ” She watched with confusion as Gendry’s mouth quirked into a smile, leaning in for one of those typically-male hugs where they slap each other on the back. 

“Don’t be getting jealous now, Arya.” Jon grinned, peanut butter on his top lip. “Gendry and I have a connection.”

Ygritte rolled her eyes and reached towards her boyfriend to wipe the mess off his face with the pad of her thumb. Arya shot an incredulous _ when-did-that-happen? _ look at Gendry, who just snaked an arm around her waist and dipped down to whisper in her ear, “you’re still my favourite Stark, m’lady.” His breath tickled her ear, cool and smelling of mint, indicating he’d just cleaned his teeth.

A sneaky blush crept into her cheeks, and she thought  _ damn right _ , with the feeling of Gendry’s biceps looped around her making her want to just melt into him.

Sansa was staring at them. Not in a particularly judgemental way. It was a very Sansa-esque way, a perceptive, knowing look that after their earlier conversation made Arya want to shrink. The guilt began to creep back into her mind; the guilt that she was trying desperately to suppress every time she stared up at the Baratheon bastard who made her feel so warm and excited. Everything fell into place when she was around him, and fell apart when they weren’t wrapped in their own little bubble. 

She slipped out of Gendry’s grasp.

They eventually ended up ordering a takeaway, the scraps they’d scavenged for lunch having not been filling enough. Sansa didn’t stick around, insisting that she had other responsibilities to attend to, and Arya felt a pang of worry when she remembered the divorce that Sansa was trying to finalise. The four of them laughed and bantered over Chinese food, Jon almost starting a food war, before being scolded by Ygritte because they’d  _ just  _ cleaned the apartment.

Their place was 75% back to the normal state of organised mess it always was when Gendry received a phone call that demanded he excuse himself from their company. Jon and Ygritte hardly registered him leaving the room as they engrossed themselves in some survival reality show that Arya had never really been invested in, her eyes instead following Gendry as he left.

She worried her lower lip, fighting internally about staying put or seeing what was up (eavesdropping) as she played with her sweet and sour. Curious by nature, she made up a bullshit excuse about getting a drink from the kitchen and slipped out after him. He was at the top of the stairs, pacing in the hallway outside her bedroom and the bathroom. She could hear the creak of the floorboards as he moved about, his voice becoming clearer as she hid just out of sight.

“I know, I understand that! Don’t you think I know the pressure that’s about to fall on me? Don’t you- yes. Oh, my god, yes. I  _ know _ .” A brief pause of silence. “What?” More silence. “You’re fucking kidding me? That’s too soon! Dad- push it back. How hard can it  _ be _ ? It’s not like there are invites out yet! Push it  _ back _ . Fuck-” An abrupt silence. 

Arya caught a brief string of muttered swear words, before she jumped at the sound of something hitting the wall. 

Suppressing panic and unease, she hurried back in to the main room, jumping onto the sofa and trying to act as if she hadn’t just heard anything. Why did she have to be so nosy? Arya wrung her hands anxiously, her mind trying to decipher and understand the words she’d just overheard between Gendry and Robert Baratheon.

“Where’s your drink?” Ygritte asked absently, looking over her shoulder at Arya.

“Hm?” She frowned in response, redirecting her thoughts back to reality.

“Your drink. You went to get a drink.” Of  _ course  _ Ygritte was paying attention even when it didn’t seem like it. 

Arya tried not to trip over her words as she formed an excuse, “oh, I-”

“I should get going.” Gendry stood half present in the doorframe, halting Arya in her tracks.

She stood up with an abruptness that almost made her go dizzy. “Everything alright?”

He wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Yeah, just gotta sort some stuff out at home. Business stuff. Family stuff. You know how it is.” His vague answer was unconvincing and noncommittal, but Jon and Ygritte turned their attention to him long enough to nod and flash him a smile.

“Alright, man. See you soon, yeah?” Jon detached himself from the redhead beside him to shake his hand, Ygritte jumping up to clap Gendry on the shoulder in goodbye after her boyfriend.

“I'll show you out.” Arya said hurriedly, leaving no room for disagreement as she stole him away from the other two. She practically pushed him out of the living room, hurrying ahead to get to the front door before him.

She fixed her eyes fiercely and determinedly on his, and found herself met with tiredness.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t let your bullheaded nature get the best of you.”

Gendry shook his head softly, and his lips were suddenly pressed against hers without hesitation as she filled the space between them. Arya found herself linking her arms around his neck so she could press her body further into his, inhaling his scent, not bothering to care about the roughness of his stubble against her skin. He kissed her cheek, her jawline, her neck, sporadically and passionately, with both hands holding tight to her hips.

It felt like a real goodbye. Arya struggled to let go; she was sick of goodbye.

“Nothing’s wrong. Nothing has ever felt more right,” his hand touched her cheek, and Arya was thrown by the tenderness she saw in him, all vulnerability and gentleness, “than this.”

Words failed her. But perhaps it was better that nothing more be said. Arya let herself be moved aside as Gendry opened the front door and stepped out, leaving her in the wake of his overwhelming affection. 

It was almost a month before she heard from him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the overwhelming response to this fic! it means so much.  
> the more i lose hope for canon gendrya the more im fuelled to write them and give them a happy (no promises) ending, but kudos and comments help fuel me too :))  
> chapter title from you are in love by taylor swift


	11. you're all I want, so bring me the dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the third wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back, back again

November was a tough month. The names Stark and Baratheon never left the headlines of the news for more than two days at a time, rumours and paparazzi photos swirling about everywhere.

The first thing to break the news was the engagement; the illegitimate son of Robert Baratheon to marry the daughter of Tyrell Corps CEO. You’d have thought it was a bloody royal wedding with the way the press wrote about it, theorising wedding dresses and guests lists. When Arya read the news, she knew it was related to Gendry’s urgent phone call. Jon didn’t say anything, acting uncharacteristically quiet. Of course she heard about it from her mum, who just went ahead and  _ assumed  _ they’d all be on the guest list.

A week later, Sansa’s divorce became public. It wasn’t even finalised yet, but somehow it finally got leaked. It was a scandal, covered extensively by tabloids like The Daily Mail and Arya’s heart really ached for her sister, who only ever (naively) wanted a happy ending. 

The divorce meant the severing of the Baratheon’s and the Stark’s,  _ and  _ their businesses. Sansa’s name was dragged through the mud. Journalists and “trusted sources” accuse her of infidelity with various men she’s sure Sansa hasn’t even heard of. In interviews, Cersei Baratheon spared her soon-to-be-ex daughter in-law no mercy, angering her father like Arya had never seen before.

It was a Thursday when Arya received an invitation to Gendry’s wedding, addressed to her and Jon.

She wasn’t sure what the final straw was, but when the truth about the Baratheon children was revealed to the press, Arya couldn’t help but wonder if her own family had a hand in the revelation. Not that Arya had known that they were the children of incest, it was as much a shock to Arya as everyone else. Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella were not Robert’s children, but illegitimate heirs to the Baratheon business. It had only been a few days since the news of Sansa’s divorce, and with this scandal too, the Baratheon’s were suffering a PR crisis that didn’t bode well for them.

The cherry on top of the drama that had unfolded came towards the end of the month, a week before Margaery and Gendry’s wedding. Robert Baratheon, who had been seething silently as he dealt with the web of deceit that his wife had woven, published the news that Gendry was to be legitimised. As the only true son of Robert, he was more an heir to the business empire than the other three children he’d raised. Marrying a legitimised Gendry to the Tyrell’s suddenly became an even more powerful move.

Arya shrugged off her thick winter jacket in the back of the car and slipped into a more dark blue, jacquard frock coat. They’d travelled hours down to London for the wedding, which was being held in a church in the inner city itself. It was a cold and wet Saturday. Pathetic fallacy, Arya thought bitterly and without humour.

When she stepped out of the car at their destination, she let the rain fall down on her, dampening her hair and shoulders. Jon grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the church, muttering “sorry! So sorry!” to guests as they passed them hurriedly to get to their seats.

The ceremony had already begun. Arya and Jon forgot their designated seats and settled in two empty ones at the back as to cause less fuss. Gendry and Margaery were at the front, standing parallel, with the priest in between. 

Margaery’s dress was as beautiful as you’d expect from a daughter of the Tyrell’s, and from someone as stunning as herself. It was tinted the slightest bit green, only noticeable when the dress moved and the light shone directly on it. Her sleeves were lace down to her wrists, embroidered with vine leaves of a slightly darker colour than the dress itself. The skirt was slim and layered, and embellished with a design of white roses. 

She could hardly bring herself to look at Gendry.

Gendry Baratheon. And his wife; Margaery Baratheon. Her fists clenched as she forced herself to put on the front that  _ she didn’t care, she shouldn’t be affected, she knew this was coming _ . Jon kept giving her nervous glances, as if worried she would do something stupid. Arya was worried about that too.   
  


**ii.**

 

The reception took place in another grand hotel, of course. Complete with a ballroom that looked plucked straight from a Disney movie. Arya wondered how much Gendry hated it all. Guests in fancy gowns waltzed as others shovelled the abnormally small tapas into their painted mouths to quell their hunger before the meal. 

Arya nearly jumped out of her skin as her eldest brother appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. 'Oh, great!' Robb sighed. 'It's like one of those films! How much input do you think our Gendry really had in all of this?”

“ _ Our _ Gendry?” She cocked a dubious brow, and somehow saying those words aloud caused a pang in her gut. He wasn’t hers. Not really, not now.

Robb was quite clearly already intoxicated. He shrugged nonchalantly, before joining in on the dancing, dragging Talisa along with him who he’d brought as a plus one.

She looked around the room for a familiar face; everything felt suddenly lonely, vast and empty yet filled with tens of smiling faces. Unsure of what to do in a situation such as the wedding of the guy you were pretty sure you were meant to be with, Arya found her way to the table she was seated at half an hour early. The name places laid out around beside her made Arya’s heart both warm and sad; whoever had arranged the seating, had made sure she sat with all her friends, for once. 

Glimpsing out into the dancing crowd again, Arya’s eyes settled as if by fate on Gendry’s form with Margaery curled against his chest, swaying to the music. She wondered if they were actually happy, given the words Gendry had spoken to her, and his apparent reluctance to marry, behind closed doors, Arya had no idea what had gone on.

Arya had swung by the bar, retreating to her fast-becoming favourite place at weddings. On a bar stool sat Mycah, sloppy smile plastered his face and Arya used up all her restraint on not running away. She hadn’t even fathomed that  _ Mycah _ would get an invite to this wedding, but her luck just seemed to be running out.

"Hey, Mycah.” Arya forced on some happiness. “Sorry — I really don't want an argument today. I'm sure that we've got lots to talk about, but not today, Mycah, I really can’t do this today.”

He frowned, “What did I do wrong, last time?”

"You‘re so invasive sometimes, so clingy. We aren’t even together and you’re too hands on.” She admitted with liquid courage and a lack of motivation to keep up appearances anymore. But the way Mycah’s face fell had Arya almost immediately registering guilt. “I'm in a bad mood. Sorry. What about you? How are you?” 

“Well, I'm quite happy actually,' a smile appeared on his face. 'I've got a new girlfriend.”

_ Great. Even Mycah’s happy in love. _

She tried not to look again at Gendry out of the corner of her eye.

“Perhaps you were right, Mycah. Perhaps we should have got married.” She was only half joking.

“God, no!” Mycah rebuffed a little too quickly. “I don't want to marry your friends too, especially Gendry.”

Her face became blank suddenly, panic rising in the pit of her stomach. “Why do you say that?”

“Because the poor bastard is obviously in love with you. I mean, I know you two must’ve broken up-“  _ what? _ “but from where I’m standing, the sod is still in deep. But that’s just my humble observation.”

It took a few moments of the cogs in Arya’s brain spinning for her to remember an earlier encounter she’d had with Gendry and Mycah, and the excuse Gendry had used to get her out of the conversation. Mycah had thought they were dating. 

He smiled sympathetically, before leaving Arya alone at the bar. Trying to refocus her mind, she ordered a drink and downed it with unnecessary speed. The happy couple could been seen mingling with their guests, Gendry running his hands through his short hair that Arya loved when it was long.

Arya wasn’t particularly in the mood for the speeches when they came along. Jon sat beside her, laughing with Ygritte. Robb was on her right with Talisa. Everywhere he looked, couples were, like an infestation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, fill your glasses, please,” Loras Tyrell asked. “the bride will make the first speech.”

“Ooh,“ Talisa grinned, “I love this girl!”  _ Everyone does _ , Arya thought bitterly.

Jon shot Arya an uncertain look, full of pity and sympathy that made her both furious and sick. Just because he knew about her and Gendry, didn’t mean she needed checking up on every few minutes.  _ She _ could get through this ceremony. She could.

“Thank you,” Margaery stood up to a round of applause. “My dear father should be the one to give this speech. But, sadly, he's not alive today. If he was here, I know what he would say: "Lovely dress, girl! But why the hell are you marrying a Baratheon?' He was always insistent that I not feel constricted by business when it came to relationships, and I follow my heart. But I have, and it’s lead me here. So, my answer would be, dad, 'Because I love him.’ As John Lennon said, "Love is the answer." And we all know that.” 

The guests clapped loudly, sweetened by Margaery’s words. Even Ygritte was smiling serenely at the table. Gendry was looking up at his new bride with an expression that seemed like admiration, but Arya knew it was more guarded than that. He liked Margaery, but part of him felt sorry for her. This wasn’t what either of them really wanted.

Gendry rose to his feet slowly as Margaery sat back down, smoothing out his shirt out of anxious habit and self consciousness. 

“If you said to me 6 months ago, that I’d be where I am now, I would assume you’d had a few pints too many. But here I am, with the most wonderful lady, as if I’ve stepped into this other dimension where I could possibly even begin to deserve her. God knows I don’t. But one thing I’m sure of,” Arya hadn’t realised how intently she’d been watching him until Gendry’s eyes fixed directly on her, his stare adamant, “I love her.”

His eyes moved away and Arya’s heart picked up its pace. Had anyone else seen that? Noticed the focus of his declaration? She looked around panickedly, at Jon and Robb and couldn’t gage a reaction from them that was out of the ordinary. The clapping and ‘awing’ of the crowd had gotten lost in the midst of Arya’s fluttered thoughts, a smile forcing its way onto her face as her mind flicked through her memories with Gendry as if watching an old slideshow.

The speeches continued with family members, but Arya couldn’t tug her eyes away from Gendry at all now. He didn’t look back at her, but the infinitely small smile playing on his lips was enough to give away that he saw her.

Margaery’s grandmother said some words in place of Margaery’s mother. She was a brash, but hilarious, woman. Loras got up to talk about a few customary anecdotes. But the only person to give a speech for Gendry was Robert, and Arya was sure she wasn’t the only person to feel the awkward tension in the room when he stood up to talk about family and honour. Gendry certainly didn’t look ecstatic.

Robert was in the middle of some metaphor about love that somehow connected to the hunting of wild boar when a crash came from just outside of the ballroom. Arya whirled around, which was when she noticed that Robb had left the table; supposedly for a toilet break. Talisa was already on her feet, wondering if someone had been hurt and if she could provide assistance. 

“Oh dear — someone doesn't agree with me!' Robert joked to no humour from the audience. “No problem! I'm used to that!”

“Someone’s had a bit too much to drink.” Jon murmured in her ear, but Arya watched as the people who’d gone to look began to hold shocked hands to their faces, and panic started to unravel.

Talisa was at the door by the gathering crowd when someone cried out, “call a doctor!”, and Arya stared in helpless abandonment as her sister-in-law collapsed into the swarm with a cry.

Someone — maybe Jon — swore beside her vehemently, but Arya was already leaping to her feet and rushing over with her mind racing a hundred miles a minute.   
Robb was crumpled on the floor. There was no blood, no sign of damage, but he was so still that he could’ve been a wax model of himself. Her brother’s eyes were open, but his mouth didn’t move. She couldn’t find her voice as Talisa examined him in panicked tears.

“Find a doctor,” a guest said urgently. 

“I  _ am  _ a doctor.” Talisa bit harshly, looking up at the man with red, angry eyes.

Quickly, Jon began ushering guests back into the ballroom, away from Robb’s body. Arya wasn’t interested in who was left standing around her brother, all she could do was stare at him. He looked so lifeless.

On her knees, Talisa tried to give him CPR, her ragged breaths only making Arya more scared. If Talisa, as a doctor and his wife, couldn’t keep it together then Arya was already expecting the absolute worst. She cradled his head in her lap, her bronze hands stroking his now sickly pale skin.

No one said a word. It was too late. Arya numbly registered a hand slip into hers, but all she felt was cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY, IF YOUVE SEEN THE FILM U HAD TO KNOW IT WAS COMING


	12. it's such a shame for us to part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a funeral. a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY YALL BUT IT IS A FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL AU

**i.**

 

The air felt grey; partly due to the gloomy northern weather, partly due to the circumstances. Arya’s fingernail beds were bitten right down so that they were sore, and it seemed like she always had crescent moon shaped indents in her palms. She wished the funeral was on a bright sunny day, a day that represented who her brother really was. 

Life wasn’t fair like that, though. 

She sat in the shotgun seat of the car carrying the coffin, after being adamant that sitting beside the black box itself was too much. Her father drove with their siblings and her mother in the back. No one spoke. Rickon was attached like a fifth limb to Catelyn, Bran was solemn, and Sansa was perpetually teary eyed. Arya could hardly even look at Jon, and vice versa. She wasn’t sure she had any tears left to cry anyway.

The Stark family were the last to arrive, with the women taking their seats at the front of the church that Arya recalled having spent many previous Sundays in as a child. She caught familiar faces in her peripheral; some of the Martell’s who’d travelled up from far south, her mother’s side of the family, some other family friends and absolutely 0 Lannisters. With infuriating helplessness, she stared at Jon and father helped carry the coffin to the designated place at the front of the church.

Talisa was already at the front waiting for them, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her eyes ringed with dark circles. Her mother immediately went in for a hug, causing more tears as everyone tried to get settled. Arya was only half present as she sat on the wooden pew bench, sandwiched now between Bran and Jon. The brush of their shoulders against hers helped her focus on keeping rooted to the situation, but all Arya felt like doing was disassociating.

She wished desperately that people weren’t wearing black. Robb’s life should have been celebrated in vibrant colour, but her family were always ones for tradition.

“Good morning,” the priest welcomed everybody, and she recognised him from her childhood. His voice was shaky and soft, and he looked at the crowd that had assembled with sincerity. ”Welcome to you all, on this cold day. Our service will begin in a few minutes, but first we've asked Robb’s wife, Talisa, to say a few words.”

Her brother’s widow took a few shaky steps until she was in full view of everyone, right by the coffin. Beautiful flowers sat on top of the polished black, in deep reds and blues.

“A few days ago, I rang a few people and asked them about Robb.” she sniffed, her voice croaky. “What did they think about him? What comes into their minds when they hear his name? Well, a few of people said, "arrogant." And a few more said "outspoken." Make of that what you will, but my Robb was just always so sure of himself and his opinions. But then some of you here called me and said that you loved him. You remember your rebellious high school days with him, your uni days or the party games he would always pull out whenever we invited anyone over for dinner. He was compassionate, bold, and my best friend. Robb also really loved life. I hope you will remember him specially for that.”

_ Fucking come back _ , her mind screamed as Arya’s eyes drifted from Talisa to the coffin.

  
“How do I remember him? I can't find the words — I'm sorry.” she carried on, wringing her hands anxiously. “So, I've taken the words of the wonderful writer, W. H. Auden. This is what I really want to say.”

Slowly, she unfolded a piece of paper she’d pocketed, and Arya didn’t miss the way her hands shook. Beside her, Jon slipped his hand gently on top of hers, triggering Arya’s eyes to suddenly prickle with tears.

  
_ “Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, _

_ Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. _

_ Silence the pianos and with muffled drum _

_ Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. _

_ Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead _

_ Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead, _

_ Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public doves, _

_ Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. _

_ He was my North, my South, my East and West, _

_ My working week and my Sunday rest, _

_ My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, _

_ I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong _

_ The stars are not wanted now, put out every one; _

_ Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; _

_ Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. _

_ For nothing now can ever come to any good.” _

  
By the time the funeral is over, the rain had ceased.

Robb’s coffin was driven away, Arya stuck to the pavement watching it became a smaller and smaller dot in the distance. Around her, people babbled quietly with emotional small talk and reminiscences, all of which Arya had no time or capacity for. She wanted her big brother back.

“Hey.” 

For a moment, her heart seemed to lurch out of her chest. She rubbed her hands aggressively against her eyes, trying to wipe them of any tears. Gendry stood behind her, dressed in an entirely black suit. His expression had Arya itching to just sink into his arms, but she fixed herself to the spot with all the willpower she could muster.

“It's good of you to come,” she said evenly, “but didn't it spoil your honeymoon? I thought you had already jetted off?”

  
“It doesn’t matter, Arya.” Gendry’s voice was soft and embracingly warm, and Arya’s nerves felt like they were all screaming out for him. 'We'll do it another time. It was more important to be here.”

“Where is Margaery? I didn’t even see either of you when I came in.” she said it as if she had even had the strength to look at  _ anyone  _ earlier that morning.

Gendry shrugged, “talking to someone I suppose. Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters.” Arya shot back with too much anger, too much spite and frustration. Paranoia ruined any interaction she had with Gendry, worried about rumours and gossip that could damage their families.

His face changed, eyebrows falling and face going slack so he looked tired and empathetic and  _ pained _ . Tenderly, he took a step towards her, reaching out one hand, his palm facing up.

“Can I?”

She wasn’t sure what he was suggesting, but Arya’s heart was two steps ahead of her brain. Without a second question she moved into him, his arm snaking around her like a south magnet finding north. He smelt of pinewood and fresh linen, and Arya buried her face in his chest with her hands locked tightly around his body. They stood like that as Arya banished her paranoia from her mind in place of the thrill and relief to be able to touch him again, to take him in.

One hand stroked her hair soothingly, and Arya found she didn’t have more tears to spill. She relaxed into his arms, not caring that she had to tiptoe to lean into him comfortably.

“Come back to mine,” she muttered into his ear, feeling his grip on her tighten.

“I can’t,” he breathed against her neck, “I wish I could.”

Arya ran her nails down the back of Gendry’s neck, “I need to feel something other than grief and helplessness.”

He pulled away, softly releasing his grip on her. No one around them seemed to be paying them much attention, but Arya knew the hug had gone on too long. Pushing the limits, Gendry leaned down to plant a kiss to her cheek, light and delicate but enough to make her shiver with want. She was sure she was mirroring the pain in his eyes, the desperation to wrap themselves up in each other and find comfort. 

She watched him walk away, knowing there was nothing she could do.   
  


 

**ii.**

  
  


“You want to go for a walk?”

Arya had been sat against the churchyard wall on her own, her mind somehow simultaneously a mess and completely blank. Jon had his hands shoved in his pockets, a small, lopsided smile scrawled on his face.

She nodded, following his lead towards a small kissing gate that headed towards a small area of woodland by the church. They walked through the undergrowth and past dew soaked wildflowers until they reached a clearing that overlooked acres of fields and farmhouses, all overshadowed by grey clouds.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel like that.”

“What?” Arya frowned at her half brother, who was staring out at the countryside thoughtfully.

“Like how Talisa feels-  _ felt  _ about Robb. I’ve had girlfriends, and of course I love my family, but what she said… I never thought I’d feel  _ that  _ way about someone.”

“And you do now?” she prompted. But Arya understood; she understood because she had thought the same. 

Jon’s smile snuck up on his face, “yeah. Yeah, I think I do. But… I don’t think marriage is for me, Arya. I don’t think that I need to get down on one knee and buy an overly expensive bit of jewelry to show Ygritte I love her.”

Arya nodded, looking at her brother with soft eyes. How were they so similar in so many ways yet not even fully related?

“I get that,” she sighed, kicking at a stone by her feet. “Like, should we even get married at all, if we can't find the right person? Today practically proved that you  _ can  _ have a perfect marriage. You can marry someone and it not fuck up everything. And if we can't be like Robb and Talisa, maybe we should just forget the idea. Some of us just… shouldn’t get married at all.”

They stood in comfortable silence. The rain clouds looked as if they were clearing, and the birds were twittering a little louder. Arya could smell petrichor; she loved being here, in the town she grew up in. As a kid, she couldn’t wait to get away and travel to a big exciting city, far away from York. Now she was desperate for a sliver of home, of nostalgia and balance and the freedom she had when she was little.

“You feel that way about Gendry? The way Robb and Talisa felt?” Jon prodded warily.

Something squeezed on her heart, pushing her to admit her feelings when it was just all so  _ hard _ .

She didn’t say anything. But Jon knew. He knew her too well not to.

“Maybe you're right.” he murmured, staring out at the Yorkshire countryside, the skyline of rolling fields. “Maybe waiting for true love is quite useless. But if you have something -  _ someone  _ \- you don’t want to lose, do something about it. It’s not too late, Arya.”

She wished she could believe that. She wished that her and Gendry were ordinary people leading ordinary lives not dictated by family or business or duty and responsibility. She wished she hadn’t had to watch him marry a woman she knew he didn’t feel the way he felt about Arya. 

She wished she hadn’t heard her mother discussing Arya’s future marriage options with her father just a week ago. All this talk of marriage had stirred that memory back up in her mind, and she involuntarily clenched her fists.

Everything was fucked, but Jon’s rare bout of optimism was still somewhat calming. Smiling gratefully, she encompassed him in a hug that felt like being wrapped up in a warm blanket on a winter’s day.

“Love you, little sister.” he sighed, releasing her and leading the way back to the church.

“Yeah, love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the lovely support ily!!<33

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading loves! <3  
> catch me on tumblr! stacygwehn.tumblr.com


End file.
